No Contest
by Dannemund
Summary: Courier McCrae is at it again in New Vegas, repairing the situation between herself and a certain sniper. The battle at the Dam looms ahead of her as she scrambles to make everything right for the Mojave... and for her future. Rated M for swearing, violence, some sexual content, shark-jumping, and Boone-swooning.
1. Hell

Note: This is a sequel to No Guarantees. I've probably written close to fifty thousand words trying to figure out No Contest, without luck. This is the first time it was less awful, and the story started to work out. Ya'll keep an eye out on out of character stuff for me please?

Second note: This is still a reimagined version of the New Vegas storyline, so if something in one of the quest lines doesn't mesh well, free free to let me know. Been dealing with the Bonnie/Craig drama for so long I'm ascared to get onto F:NV and check it out (Gamepedia works just fine.)

Enjoy Bonnie scooting about the wasteland and acting like a horrible bitch. Her inner voice just won't shut up!

* * *

McCrae woke up. Felt like she'd died again. _Had_ she died?

God, she hoped she hadn't. If she had, hell was a lot like Camp McCarran.

McCrae stared at the crumbling ceiling in the darkened room as her eyes focused and head began to clear. She recognized the place after she turned her head and saw a pillar in the center of the enormous room. She _was_ in McCarran. Well, that was okay; it meant no psychos out to get her or having to deal with a crazy situation. NCR had picked her up off the desert floor and brought her in for treatment. Probably suffered dehydration and some scrapes.

She looked around her. No one and nothing in sight, but a couple of bottles of water sitting next to her head and a note. She pushed herself up and felt dizzy.

It was really, really stupid of her to just walk away like she had. How could she think that just giving up was an option? She'd handled cazadores and Legionaries and dogs and... and dying, _twice,_ but she couldn't handle _him_ leaving? Her chest tightened painfully.

For a moment she sat in the bed and stared at her hands. Remembered what had happened, how good it had been to feel like someone had her back. Remembered how good things had been between them, when she gave in to everything. ...How bad things had been on the road to Vegas, before she'd found him. Before they'd teamed up and she'd promised him dead Legionaries, but gave him betrayal instead.

She knew it was too good to be true. McCrae sighed to herself. _Back to square one, I guess. Serves me right for thinking I could let myself fall in love._ She had a bad history for love, she knew it. Falling in love was probably a good deal more stupid than walking off into a desert without water and weapons, too.

Wouldn't be the first dumb thing Bonnie McCrae ever did. Wouldn't be the last, either.

She picked up and squinted at the note. Colonel Hsu. _Oh, yeah._ The, uh, numbers thing, he wanted information about the camp. She hadn't been paying much attention in the Fort, really. Had to deal with Benny―was too worried about Boone's reaction, to think straight.

The old wound on her face started going off again. _No! Goddammit―just put him out of your head! Just stop thinking about it._ She closed her eyes and breathed out, cleared her mind.

With a quick motion, she pulled her hair back and looped it around into a bun, securing it with a hairpin. Ignoring the thoughts running through her head, she located a bathroom and washed her face. Her legs were still a little wobbly. She wondered how long she'd been out of it, this time. The Pip-Boy said about a day and a half.

 _Okay, McCrae. Let's do this._

"Colonel?" she called, as she entered the office, on the lower level of the lobby area. Hsu made a questioning noise and turned to face her. McCrae nodded at him. "Thanks for saving my ass," she said, awkwardly.

"Miss McCrae." He smiled. "Actually, it was O'Hanrahan at Camp Golf." He shrugged. "Said something about doing him a niceness, in the past. Found you near one of the pipes and carried you all the way over here."

McCrae frowned. She didn't recall meeting anyone named O'Hanrahan, but... that had been after Bitter Springs, and she wasn't paying attention. Crap, it seemed like the past few months had been one long string of her not paying attention to what was going on around her.

"That's a long way out of the way for a soldier in Camp Golf," she muttered. _Gotta keep my ears and eyes open for myself, now,_ she thought.

"O'Hanrahan's got heart," Hsu said. "He's a good man."

"I'll have to thank him, later," she said, noncommittally. "You wanted to talk?"

Colonel Hsu motioned for her to sit. In the absence of another chair, she plopped herself down on the bed. He smiled wider, and she crossed her legs self-consciously. _Yeah, stop that, he's not smiling like that, you idiot. He's being inviting, so you'll talk to him._

"Well," he asked, "you made it to the Fort?"

"Yes," she answered, nervously waving a palm out. "I'm, uh, not really familiar with how you want your information, so..."

"That's alright. Make an educated guess for me. Possible number of enemy troops?"

She thought about the camp and the inhabitants. "There were about eight or ten beds per tent," she recalled. "Assuming they are hotbunking, that's twenty Legionaries, and..." She screwed up her face. "Maybe four hundred? I might not have seen the entire camp, you know."

"I wouldn't expect Caesar to give you free reign over his little kingdom," Hsu said. He picked up a pencil and held it over a paper on the desk he was sitting at. "Armament?"

"There was a howitzer up there," she said, thoughtfully.

The look on Hsu's face was almost funny. If McCrae wasn't on his side about the goddamn Legion, she might have laughed. He turned and made a note, then wiggled the pencil back and forth in his fingers. "I hadn't expected them to have access to such heavy firepower," he muttered, darkly.

"I don't think it was in working condition," she added, as a consolation. "There was a lot of equipment stripped from it, laying about. Probably they were trying to fix it, but weren't able to."

"We can hope." Hsu turned and faced her again, leaning forward onto the desk. He looked very tired. McCrae wondered if he ever slept, with those black bags under his eyes. "How did you come to be passed out near Camp Golf anyway, Miss McCrae?"

She looked up and away from him, stilling her nervous hands on her knees.

"I only ask because you've become such an important figure around New Vegas," he added. "It wouldn't do for you to die out there, when we've only just met you."

She scoffed. "I'm not that important."

"Miss McCrae―"

"Drop the Miss, already," she groaned. "My name's McCrae. If I like you, it's Bonnie. Making it sound all polite just makes me feel... old." _You are old, why bother arguing―shut up, inner Bonnie, or I'll kick your ass._ Her cheek started up again. She forced a smile at Hsu, hoping he wouldn't notice.

Hsu's eyebrows went up and he smiled, hesitating. "Which would you prefer _I_ call you? Please tell me it's the latter." He sounded hopeful.

It felt silly to have to think about that, to wonder if she honestly liked the man. He was a good guy, NCR and proud, trying to help people. Making sure the people in Vegas got power and water. And he was polite, which was more than she could say about herself. McCrae chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, alright. You can call me Bonnie. Don't spread it around though. I need my street cred."

"As you wish, Bonnie," Hsu replied. The way he said it was weird, and she screwed up her face again. "Whatever happened to your friend, Craig Boone?"

Her stomach dropped. She scowled at herself for reacting so stupidly. "We've parted ways," she told the colonel, her voice strained. _Bonnie, ignore it. He's gone. We've got better things to do... like get up to Vegas and find out what the hell House was talking about, with his betterment of Mankind and all that._

Yeah. That was gonna be a hell of a lot more "distracting" than some moderately handsome man in a nice uniform, asking her to report her spying effort. She grimaced and rubbed her cheek, still twanging like a guitar string.

"Ah." He was quiet for a moment. "I hope you come to see me again, in the future," he said. "The NCR could certainly use your help with the Dam, and seeing as you are the only liaison we have to House..."

She snorted. Felt like old times, being all by herself and having to rely on her wits alone to get her out of a jam. "I see how it is," she huffed, mockingly. "You just want me for my _contacts."_

Hsu sputtered, and dropped the pencil onto the desk. "Miss―" he stopped himself. "Bonnie. I assure you, while I am required to form a rapport with the local who's-who, I am also genuinely interested in seeing you do well." He tapped the desk with a finger. "You recall, I did come to see you at Usanagi's clinic when you... suffered." He sounded concerned, but McCrae wasn't really hearing it. "I do feel terrible that you underwent such a horrible event."

"Hmm." _Don't need a reminder about that mess._ She stood up. "You need anything else?"

Hsu shook his head. "Thank you for the information," he said. "And don't be a stranger. We can always use some help around here."

McCrae shrugged. "I'll see what I can do," she said, in a low voice, before turning to the door.

"Oh, and Bonnie!" Hsu stood, to see her out. She glanced back at him. "Try to see Ambassador Crocker before too long, please?"

She vaguely remembered a note being thrust into her hand and filing it away under the heading "I'll read it later". She nodded at the colonel. "Alright, I guess I can go down and see him."

"Be safe," Hsu said, as she left the airport.

* * *

Once again, she found herself back at the Lucky 38. Once again, she went into the suite and ignored Victor's reminder that she had an appointment to keep with House. McCrae threw off the leather armor and plunged into a bath, then dug out the note from Crocker as she brushed out her hair.

"I wish to speak with you immediately in regards to important matters." _Well._ Colonel Hsu must have meant it when he said she was important, if the NCR's diplomats were wanting to see her. She guessed that House's efforts to keep Vegas free of any outside influence―her employment as the courier of the chip, and subsequent involvement with House in place of Benny―were a thorn in the side of the NCR.

Could House really think he trusted her, some random person off the desert floor, to pull off this grand scheme of his? Hell, she was halfway dead when she arrived in Vegas, and all the way dead since. He didn't seem to want to give anyone else the opportunity to do these things; he could easily pay someone to take her out and install them as his new errand boy.

And shit. She'd done the job, she didn't need to stick around anymore. Getting the hell of out the desert had been her plan to begin with, until she met Boone.

McCrae's heart lurched and she put the paper down onto the desk, running her hands through wet hair and ignoring the pain. The plan had been to delay the inevitable for as long as possible, get the chip back and get out of the Mojave. Then, when she died again, it had been, _what?_ To make herself stronger, to prove to him that she wasn't a selfish bitch? To impress him. She remembered that.

She _was_ a bitch, though. She hadn't impressed him at all.

Bonnie yelled in frustration and shoved the computer console off the desk. It landed with a rattle and the screen flickered a tiny bit, showing some gibberish. She swore, reminding herself that she didn't actually own anything beyond her equipment in the suite.

Well, the sensible thing would be to go and talk to House, then tell him she was quitting. _No, wait._ No, the sensible thing would be to sell everything she didn't need―and clean out everything downstairs in the casino, House certainly didn't need it. He had plenty of caps, he could afford to foot her travel bill.

He hadn't paid her for the delivery yet. Probably _wouldn't._ House was probably counting her job payment for the caps it had cost to keep her alive after the torture. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Yeah, she was fucked if she didn't get some caps, somehow.

Bonnie laid her hands on the desk and exhaled slowly, calming herself down. It was incredibly nice to live in the Lucky 38. Too nice for her. She was used to roughing it in metal shacks and crumbling buildings away from everything, out in the wastes. Used to sleeping in holes in the ground, or finding a lucky cave without critters. Before she was here, she'd sometimes delivered mail to the Mojave Outpost, which was where she picked up the order for House's delivery.

If she did leave... that would be where she should go. Sounded like a plan. McCrae stood up and grabbed an outfit out of the wardrobe, stuffing her arms into the shoulder-holes. Her leather needed to be cleaned, badly. She'd deal with that one, later.

She fluffed up her hair in the elevator, and stepped out of the Lucky 38, looking like any other tourist on the street. Except this one had a sack full of cigarettes, Pre-War money, and booze to sell, and was _definitely_ going to make a profit tonight.


	2. Working With The Bear

Note: I've always had a major soft spot for O'Hanrahan... love the sweethearts. (Sorry about all the numbers... there's a kid around here that loves counting)

* * *

She went to talk to Crocker after depositing the money in the suite at the 38, bringing out a haul of weapons she wasn't using and various junk items. After hauling the crap to the ass end of the Strip, she was tired and in a bad mood. She ought to have left the bag at the front of the 38, but she was not trying to show the robots or House that she needed a lot of money very quickly. House was probably watching her like a hawk, since the torture incident.

And she still had to walk over to Camp Golf and see O'Hanrahan and tell him thanks for saving her ass. Maybe she'd do that next, if this talk with Crocker didn't pan out. After selling the various clothing, anyway. And mending her leather armor.

McCrae didn't have to wait to see him. She wondered if he had anything better to do with his time than tap away at his console in his office. After sitting with him for the better part of half an hour, she came away with some interesting news.

Firstly, her position at the 38 was not something she could even try to run away from. Hsu was right, she was important and she was stuck here. McCrae grumbled to herself―being forced to stay in New Vegas simply because of her reputation with House was annoying. But then, she understood what Benny had been trying to do, now. Why he wanted to take over New Vegas. Without House in charge, both the NCR and Legion would be hard pressed to take over the Mojave if they were contending with Yes Man and his army of Securitrons.

Secondly, that old military base that she'd heard about in the northeast was real. And Crocker wanted her to open up a diplomatic effort with them on behalf of the NCR. They called them Boomers. Two guesses as to why... She was gonna get herself _killed_ doing this shit!

McCrae wasn't so sure she wanted to support the NCR anymore, if that was how they wanted to start this relationship. Not even the gentle words of Colonel Hsu could make her want to go traipsing into a firefight with a bunch of people manning howitzers.

She stared around her at the Strip. There were NCR soldiers were everywhere. It reminded her of Boone, his bandoleer and beret sitting on top of his head. She stopped on the street, planted her feet, and wiped her eyes at the thought. If she _really_ wanted to impress him... and maybe he might forgive her if she showed she wasn't standing with the Legion, definitively... she ought to follow through with the NCR. Go up to Nellis, try to make things right for the Mojave. Make things right for Boone.

Her personal opinion was that the NCR was better off using the Mojave as a no-man's-land. A sort of barrier between them and the Legion. The people who lived here... would be devastated by a political land-grab. She sighed.

"It's not always that simple. But I think the cause is still right. And God help us if they lose." That's what he'd said. He'd pointed out that the NCR had done a lot of good for places back west. Enough good that people had gotten so used to it, they were now complaining about it. That they didn't remember what life used to be like, before the NCR. McCrae laughed, joylessly. People would never change.

But would Vegas?

* * *

Camp Golf was bustling with activity. It took her about fifteen minutes to get through a crowd of soldiers near the command tent, and twenty more just to talk with McCredie. Eventually she ended up near the firing range, watching some inept soldiers attempt to shoot things.

McCredie had mentioned that the troop was not doing well. She'd offered to talk to them―she was looking for this O'Hanrahan guy, and he was a member of the Misfits―and so far she was thinking it was going to be impossible to get them to work together. Between the snotty attitude of Poindexter and the... _illuminating_ conversation she'd had with Razz, there didn't appear to be much she could do. She'd avoided making promises―hell, she couldn't even _do_ what Mags suggested! Her face burned at the thought of her trying to teach them to shoot and use grenades. That was really something more up Boone's alley...

McCrae shuddered with a sob, barely keeping it contained. _Goddammit, McCrae, get over it. You keep that up, you'll be stuck somewhere getting shot at by Vipers and take another bullet to the brain._

"Are you alright?" someone asked, from behind her.

McCrae rubbed her eyes of emotion and turned around. "Oh," she said, surprised. "Hey, I remember you." The handsome soldier she'd spoken with the last time she was in Camp Golf, after the trip to Bitter Springs. "I'm fine, thanks," she sighed.

"Didn't expect to see you out in the desert again, after the last time," he said. "I guess you got better real fast, huh?"

"What?" She stared him down―err, up. He was about five inches taller than her, and strong-looking. Shit, he probably could have hauled her off into the desert and _ran_ to McCarran from Camp Golf. Without being winded, too... She pushed the thoughts away and realized what he'd said. The connection went through. She smiled, sheepishly. "Are you O'Hanrahan?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, grinning like a little boy.

 _Oh, my God._ Every thought she had in her head was suddenly gone and replaced with a girlish titter. _Bonnie McCrae!_ she told herself. _You stop that! You stop that right now, or you're gonna get hurt again, and this time it might be worse than ending up dying in the desert!_

 _And dammit, don't you want for Boone to come back?_ Her mood soured instantly. Maybe, but he probably _wouldn't._ Maybe she should just stick to being a bitch, she was real good at that one. Maybe she should be old Bonnie again, and do what she wanted, and to hell with the consequences.

"And you're that courier everyone's been jawin' about," he was saying.

She snapped her mind back to the Misfits and their problems, putting her own aside. "Yes, I am," she confirmed. "Thank you for peeling me off the ground, and taking me over to Hsu. I really don't know what came over me."

"The colonel treats people real nice." O'Hanrahan's eyes crinkled and she willed herself not to melt into a pool at his feet. _Dammit._ "A lady oughta take better care of herself. Not that I minded rescuin' ya," he added, the grin never leaving his face.

"How do you think I can improve your squad's effectiveness?" she asked abruptly, trying to change the subject. Too much of that grin would make her do something she _knew_ she'd regret. _You've already got regrets..._

 _Shut up, brain._

He considered for a moment, staring over her head, before turning his eyes back onto her. "Well, I'll tell you what I think this squad needs: a little more basic human niceness."

She coughed and sputtered before she managed to squeak out a "What?" and blink disbelieving at the soldier. He kept an easy smile on his face, and told her that the squad didn't get along very well. "Human niceness?" she asked, still a little surprised.

"That's right. Folks just don't talk to other folks, and everybody's always cross with each other."

She mulled it over. Bringing them all together as a cohesive unit would be the best best―unlike Razz, who still creeped her out with his past, she didn't think drugs were the answer. And Poindexter's idea would just get them killed, eventually. Wished she could do Mags' idea, but there was no way she could pull it off.

"Okay," she said, firmly. "I'll try it out." It really was the best bet.

"That'd be swell. Only, if they knew the idea came from me, they probably wouldn't take you serious no more, so maybe you oughta think about it first." O'Hanrahan looked sad. "And I sure hope you're more convincing than I am, or they ain't gonna listen."

"My father always said I could charm the skin off a snake," she offered up, playfully. But she softened at his grin again. "Why wouldn't they take your idea seriously?"

He looked embarrassed, now. His eyes fell to the ground and his face took on a lost look. She felt guilty for that. It took him a moment to raise his gaze to hers. "Being honest, Mags is always yellin' at me. Poindexter... talks a little too smart for me to follow. And Razz, well," he sighed. "Rather not be usin' words like _that_ 'round a lady."

McCrae knew what he meant; Razz had been brutally "honest" with her. "I'll be back. You sit tight."

It took her less time that she thought, just making idle suggestions to Mags and Poindexter. The latter was so overcome by his own ego, it was disgusting. She saved Razz for last, because the man had been a Fiend. And Bonnie McCrae had a reason to hate―the stream of curses in her head was inadequate to describe her feelings for the goddamn Fiends.

 _Ouch! You shouldn't use those words, you might put off your new "boyfriend."_ She inhaled sharply and punched herself in the temple. Her internal dialogue was starting to get on her nerves worse than that promoter outside the Tops. Always with the insults and hitting right on target.

"Every time you come around, the brass gets their pants in a bunch. Keep on coming by," Razz told her, grinning.

McCrae ignored the implication of her notoriety. "Listen, I came to talk with you about the squad..." She put her hands on her hips.

"You rethink my idea? I got _connections,_ honey."

"Absolutely not," she said. "I want to know what you think of your squadmates."

"Poindexter's a smartass prick. O'Hanrahan's a big pussy, ain't good for shit in a fight, and Mags... well, Mags is cut out for something other than soldiering, you dig?" He was acting like he couldn't sit still, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"That's charming. It's good to know team-building is alive and well." She stared him down. "Maybe this is why you guys _suck_ so goddamn badly."

He went still, blinking slowly at her. "Shit, maybe you're right. Guess I ought to give them a shot."

McCrae nodded, and turned away. It was disappointing how little faith they all had in one another. Whose fault was _that?_ Maybe Mags, she was supposed to be squad leader. _Ugh. Poor O'Hanrahan._ She returned to the little table he'd been sitting at, only to find him gone.

Now where the hell would a six-foot-tall boy go? she wondered to herself. _Oh, Bonnie. Stop that, the poor man might not be bright but he makes up for it in heart. Colonel Hsu was right about that, and you owe him. Don't be a bitch._

 _Fine. Fine!_ She glanced around, then hollered out his name. A passing soldier pointed her in the direction of the Misfit's tent. _Once we get out of here, we're going right to Nellis, and I hope you get blown up, you stupid voice. I mean it._

"O'Hanrahan?" she asked, pushing aside the flap and moving into the tent.

He was standing in the corner, shoving something into his pocket. "Sorry, I was―uhh―"

"You ain't doing drugs or something, are you?" she asked, instantly suspicious. His face was the very image of a kid who got his hand caught in a pie.

"No!" he protested. "I wanted to look at this here, uh, letter, is all." He pulled it out and a picture floated down to the ground.

McCrae picked it up and looked it over. "Is that you, when you were a kid?" she asked, glancing between it and his face. "Wait, where was this―" She squinted. "Ohhh! Oh, my _God!_ I _know_ you!"

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused. He took the picture from her and looked at it, then at her.

"I lived next farm over from yours for three years!" she said excitedly, then her face dropped. But they'd left when Angus died and Mamie couldn't run the farm by herself, even with migrant workers. She chewed her cheek, remembering the family next door that had about eight kids and another on the way. How come she hadn't recalled him to begin with? What was his first name?

Well, he'd certainly grown _right the hell up_ into a beast of a man. She smiled at him. "I'm sorry, I just got excited about finding an old neighbor," she said.

"I can't rightly say I remember you," he said. "There was a lot of people movin' into the area when I was a kid."

"Jimmy," she said, snapping her fingers. "That's it, right?"

"Well, yeah. Jim O'Hanrahan."

McCrae smiled at him, triumphantly. Today had been a decent sort of day, after all. "C'mon, Jim," she said, giddily, "let's go see how your squad is taking my words. I hope it's to the heart."


	3. Loyalty and Fear

McCrae was crouched on top of the road, looking down on the Nellis Air Force Base. She chewed on her cheek, eyes roaming over the ruined houses that littered the area, and the chain link fence. The Boomers would let loose their munitions the minute she came into sight, and she debated which way would be best to go about this. There wasn't a way in hell she'd get through the houses without some serious luck, even knowing the pattern. Or just real good reflexes, but she wasn't _that_ good at dodging explosive ordinance. She sighed and looked up at the sky.

Kind of wished she'd stayed in Camp Golf. O'Hanrahan and the Misfits were getting along a lot better by the time she left, and she didn't want to take away from their budding friendships by stealing away Jim to talk. She could always go back another time and chat him up about the past. Maybe more, if she could get _Boone_ out of her fucking head.

She wavered and caught herself with a hand on the asphalt. He just wasn't going away, in her thoughts. All that time they'd spent in the 38, talking about inane things, finding out he was a good cook... the little comments he'd made about her crying. She was trying to get better, moving on. Distracting herself with things that were difficult―just brought up more memories, bad ones. Like her stupid attempt to keep Boone from getting killed at the Cove. She could compare it to running through Nellis' front yard.

McCrae blew a strand of hair out of her face, blown about by the wind. It had picked up while she was walking north, and now it was going to storm. She had to get into the base, or she had to go back down the road and get into that shack. Either way she was gonna get blown about by a powerful force.

She stood and stretched her legs, cracking her neck. _Alright. We can do this, right?_

 _Oh, my God. No._ No, she couldn't. She hit the fence like a sack of potatoes, flung forward by the very last explosion. She couldn't feel her legs and she was pretty sure there was shrapnel in her spine―

And it started to rain right as some jackass with an attitude bigger than a Brahmin's back end started talking down to her, through the fence. She managed to roll her eyes before she passed out from blood loss.

* * *

 _I'm just gonna have to stop sleeping!_

She woke up in a hospital bed, coughing and hacking up something that looked suspiciously like her guts. Wow, that was a crazy thing to do, she told herself.

 _No more crazy than trying to lock up a fully-grown man in a tower just so he wouldn't follow your ass into hell,_ was the reply.

 _Can... can we please call a truce on the reminders...?_

 _Huh,_ her inner voice said. _Never figured you for a quitter. You got up from death twice, and you can't handle your own thoughts? What a whiner._

A doctor approached, and she blinked wearily at him. "What happened?" she asked, confused.

"You made it through our defenses," he grumbled. "Welcome to Nellis. Once you're able to move, you can head over to talk to Mother Pearl."

She got back up from near-death once again. Glad it wasn't actual death, this time. With her luck, the third time would be the fucking charm.

McCrae spent a week wandering around and helping the Boomers. She was impressed by their perseverance, their attention to their own community. They had everything they could ever need, including the munitions to keep the outside away. She almost wished she was a Boomer, when Loyal started on about his master plan for the Lady. It was incredible, the amount of dedication they had to their plan. It was the only time she'd ever seen Loyal so animated and thoughtful, and the most conversation she'd ever had with him.

Though that last picture on the wall of Boomer museum was a bit frightening. She'd raised her eyebrows at the kid telling her the story, but said nothing about their desire to blow the hell out of the wasteland in general. No wonder the NCR wanted them on their side!

About two weeks into her visit, she was working with Jack to put together a breathing apparatus for her trip under Lake Mead. To get that bomber out, she would have to be able to stay down there for a long time, attaching ballast to the wings.

Jack had been smiling all morning, excited about the Lady and McCrae being able to help their cause. She smiled back, just as excited to be able to take part. The young man's face, lit up in happiness, was attractive and infectious. Even Loyal cracked a smile. In his case there had been so many jokes made about his expression that he huffed off angrily, muttering the whole way.

"He just never smiles," Jack said. "Almost like he's stuck in angry old man mode all the time."

McCrae laughed at that and grinned at Jack. She bent over the table and looked closer at the rebreather. When she moved to grab the straps, Jack's hand accidentally stroked her cheek in a downward motion. He was reaching for it, too. Her inner voice started another round of haranguing, catching her off-guard.

 _Hey, you remember how you thought O'Hanrahan was handsome?_ she asked herself. She jerked in surprise. _Oh, but it's a damn shame you thought Boone looked ugly._

She punched herself in the eye, quickly. Jack jerked backward in surprise, and McCrae laid her hand flat over the left side of her face, grimacing. "Sorry," she muttered.

"You've been doing that a lot," he noted, concerned. "What's the matter with you?"

One thing she enjoyed about the Boomers was their lack of subtlety. No playing around with them, they asked whatever was on their mind without a filter. McCrae shrugged and looked down at the rebreather, removing her hand from her face. "I got shot in the head a while ago," she said, quietly. "...I got better. Not much, though."

"Oh." Jack nudged the rebreather. "This is done. You should give it a try."

"Thanks, Jack," she said, attempting a smile. It came out sourly.

After she'd ballasted the bomber and got it out of the lake, and the Boomers came by to collect it, McCrae gave her word to Pearl that she would love to help them anytime they needed it. Pearl and Loyal both agreed that they owed her immeasurably for the return of the Lady, and pledged to aid her in the upcoming battle at the Dam.

She hadn't thought about that. Whatever was brewing out there, she wasn't sure what part she might take in it. She glanced around at Nellis, and wondered if Pearl would let her live there. Probably not. She was still an outsider, even if she was responsible for filling their dream of bombing shit from the sky. She wished it was easier, that she could fit into their community. Too bad she hadn't been born in that Vault.

McCrae grumbled a little and started the trek back to New Vegas.

* * *

Crocker asked her to check out the escalating attacks in Freeside, locals on NCR civilians. Starting with some fellow named The King. She nodded, tiredly. It had been a hard trip back from Nellis, after spending a while there recovering from her shrapnel injuries and running halfway around the desert to retrieve things for them. And she'd been eating shit that didn't agree with her stomach. She was starting to get tired of throwing up.

She yawned. Maybe it would be better to go... home, to the Lucky 38, and nap. But she didn't want to grace House with her presence if she still wasn't willing to finish what he'd started. At least he hadn't sent Victor out to round her ass up like a errant cow.

McCrae played with the chip, rolling it around in her hand, before stuffing it into a pocket of her dress. For today, she had decided to be a normal person. Just a woman, walking around Freeside, albeit a woman with a cowboy repeater across her back and a shiny pair of spiked knuckles she'd dragged out of her weapons case. She liked them, liked how they said LOVE and HATE on them. It was stupidly funny, for some reason.

She strode across the street and batted her eyes in jest, at the Kings gang member standing outside. The building was huge. She went inside and noted there was repair work on the walls, plaster put in to fill up the cracks. Kings gang meant well, she knew. She'd asked around, most people in Freeside looked up the King for keeping the peace. She liked that they wanted to take care of their place, and liked it even more that they were cautious about who got in to see The King.

Guy named Pacer was eyeing her. She'd asked about the gang, she knew what to expect of him. He wasn't anything real tough, but McCrae held out her hand and greased his palm with some caps. "All right, baby doll," he said, laughing.

She conceded that greed might be useful. Turning and opening the door to the room he was guarding, she froze in fear.

"What's the matter?" Pacer asked, snickering. "The King struck you dumb with his charm?"

McCrae released the door knob and backed away, her eyes on the dog inside the room. Sitting with what she presumed to be The King. _No way._ No, she couldn't do this one. Crocker was up shit creek right now, there was no way she was gonna get anywhere near that dog; not even if most of him was metal and―Christ, was that a see-through helmet on his head? _What the hell―_

"Go on, get in there," Pacer muttered, pushing her into the room and pulling the door shut.

McCrae fought panic, turning around to see the door closing. She grabbed the handle and rattled it, but a mean chuckle on the other side told her that Pacer wasn't going to be opening it anytime soon. She flattened herself against the wall and stared the dog down.

She couldn't overcome her fear―even after Bitter Springs, she still couldn't do dogs. She'd fought the Legion mongrels, at that time because... because _Boone_ was with her.

 _You're shit outta luck right now because he had your back and you just up and left him behind. Didn't even make good on your promises to do better by him. You're too scared of everything in the world to do anything right._

McCrae's face started twitching again.

* * *

It was probably ten minutes before the door unlocked to admit some other Kings gang member, whereupon McCrae flung it open as wide as it would go, storming out of the room in a mix of terror and anger. She landed one good hit on Pacer with her spiked knuckles before fleeing the building.

She left and kept walking. Walked until she saw the gates of Freeside, walked out of them into the outskirts of Vegas, and kept walking over and away from Vegas. Her legs were sore from the effort and her lungs were burning by the time she stopped and laid her hands on her knees. She breathed hard, trying to calm herself.

She had been locked into a room with a dog for ten minutes and she'd been _terrified_ the whole time. She had no idea why she was so scared, either; she didn't even have a memory to explain it. McCrae breathed out and let the fear leave her, then looked up and around her.

 _Goddammit!_ How―how could she be so damn scared that she didn't think, just moseyed out into the wastes with nothing more than a Pre-War dress on? She glanced left and right, checked her Pip-Boy, and froze again. There was something out there. _Shit!_

She felt queasy. Her stomach bucked and roiled as she backed herself toward the distant gate of Freeside, as quietly as she could.

It was a gecko, and a golden one at that. It walked out in front of her with that goofy little gait all geckos had, and turned it's head at her. McCrae spun and fled, pulling her repeater from her back, swearing up a storm. It nipped at her heel, and she felt the nausea starting to overtake her.

She was at the lee of the overpass ruins before she tried to turn and shoot at the gecko. It was nearly on her, and she shrieked in surprise as it launched itself into the path of her repeater―a shot sounded―

And then it was dead, and she hadn't fired her weapon.


	4. Why Won't You Go

Note: Long story short, adverbs are not my friends.

* * *

"Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed, now?"

She opened her eyes as wide as they would go, turning to see someone moving toward her. Radiation poisoning was taking effect from the gecko bite, making her vision blurry. Her repeater was still in her hands, shaking. McCrae knew there were more than just geckos out there to be worried about, and she did not intend for some stranger to get a leg up on her.

She swung the gun around and brought it up to her face, aiming at the man. The repeater was swiftly pushed to one side and wrested from her grasp. A rough hand grabbed her dress strap, pulling her toward the blurry man. "Fuck you!" she swore, raising her hands to fend him off, pushing back on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Bonnie. I'm not going to shoot you."

 _Boone._

She went limp, dropping her hands. "Oh, thank God," she mumbled, feeling her legs go weak. Blood was dripping from one ankle as she looked down at his hand on her dress, pooling in her shoe.

Boone released her from the death-grip and reloaded his rifle, looking away from her. Bonnie put a hand out to the overpass and leaned on her good ankle, raising the other off the ground. It was a bad enough bite. She would need RadAway and a good scrubbing to get the gecko spit off. Nasty little critters, she thought, shooting the dead thing a glare.

"Where the hell have you been for the last two weeks," Boone was asking, his voice ever as calm as it had been.

"What?" She was still surprised to even see him. He'd been so damn― _furious_ ―the last time they spoke―and he'd left her in the motel, said he wasn't gonna be with her to figure out what House was up to. And what the hell was he doing outside Freeside? Shouldn't he be home in Novac or have gone off to kill Legionaries and got himself _shot?_

He turned and shot her a long glare. He was still angry, looked like. Didn't seem happy to see her, but then, that was kind of how he... reacted to everything. Being mad and unhappy. Was―was he looking for her, or something? She drew a breath and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. The radiation was really bad―

Bonnie threw up on the ground, holding her stomach with one hand, and grasping the overpass with the other. Her fingers twitched against the roughness of the stone. "Oh, Christ, I am getting _real_ tired of this shit," she moaned, spitting out bits of whatever it was she'd eaten for lunch. She couldn't even remember, at this point.

"Come on," Boone said, grabbing her around her upper arm and dragging her away.

"Stop," she protested. "I can't walk on my ank―"

"You don't get back into Vegas, you aren't going to be alive to _complain,"_ he muttered.

"Wh―" Bonnie stumbled and he caught her, as she fell, by her upper arm. His hand was so tight on her skin it hurt more than the stupid gecko bite. "That _hurts!_ Stop it!"

He didn't let go, just hauled her up onto one ankle and made her skip-hop the rest of the way back to the Freeside gate. Once inside, she was dropped to the ground and subject to a bit of ridicule from the guards on the corner.

"That one was gone for five minutes and found herself in trouble!" one of the bodyguards said, holding out a hand to another man. "That's ten caps, Orris. You _optimist."_

The bodyguard in metal armor groused and started to count out caps into his hand.

Bonnie growled in anger and started to reach for her rifle, but realized Boone had it. She stared up at him from the ground, rubbing her ankle around the gecko bite. Her words failed her, where her thoughts were running wildly through her head. What the hell was going on?

Boone looked around for a moment, then picked her up by the arm again and dragged her toward the Old Mormon Fort. He didn't say a word. Bonnie opened her mouth to protest.

"No! Stop!" she put her heels into the dirt and pulled away from him, ignoring the bite and how much it hurt. "I am _not_ going in there!"

"You want to lose your foot?" Boone growled, and pulled her close to his face. Oh, he was _pissed._ She was confused. She still didn't get why he'd been near Vegas, or why he'd chosen to save her. Could have left her to rot, which was what she expected from his attitude. She probably would have survived, but probably would have gotten bitten a few more times.

"Why are you even―"

"Why do you care?"

She stared at him, taking in his expression, seeing her reflection in his sunglasses. _Go ahead and admit it, Bonnie. You missed him! You just want to throw your arms around him and kiss him on that ugly mouth like tomorrow isn't gonna come._

Her free hand jerked up and smacked herself in the face, startling him. It was something she was becoming used to, the automatic reaction to her own negative thoughts. At least it made the emotional pain go away. Didn't mean she liked it, though.

She looked away from him. He'd probably think she was trying to hurt herself on purpose or something. Or that she was doing it to manipulate him. She wasn't, it was a tic of some kind set off by an emotional state she hadn't been able to ease out of. Maybe if things went back to the way they had been before, she would have control―but that _wasn't_ gonna happen. He would never want that―

She sniffled a little, blinking rapidly. Her eyes focused on a distant mailbox, blurry in outline but recognizable.

"You got _lucky,"_ Boone answered her question. "That robot couldn't find you. Found me instead."

Bonnie looked back at him, tears in her eyes. He'd only come back to find her because of Victor? She wiped her nose and looked down.

"So you got lucky," he continued, "because I wouldn't have come looking for you, otherwise."

Bonnie started to cry then. Boone pulled her toward the Old Mormon Fort again, without another word.

She wondered if he was still keeping count.

* * *

One of the Followers pumped her full of antibiotics while she dabbed at the blood on her ankle, her shoe tossed to the floor. After, she received a dose of RadAway and paid them with a begrudging smile. Boone kept up the silent treatment, arms crossed over his First Recon outfit, eyes elsewhere than on her.

Bonnie wondered why Victor had been looking for her, but remembered that she had been out in Nellis for a while. Certainly long enough to cause House some concern. She glanced at Boone from time to time but he wasn't even bothering to watch her.

She applied her own bandages and wiped out the inside of the high heel, pulling it on. Flagged down Julie Farkas and spoke with her a moment, catching up with local gossip. She found out a little bit about that dog in the Kings building, but― _honestly!_ If anyone expected her to go back in there, they were as screwed in the head as _she_ was.

The nausea came back after a few minutes of talking with Julie. Julie asked a few questions of her own, sussing out the cause of her vomiting. "Randomly?"

"I think I've been eating irradiated food," she mumbled, heaving up stomach acid.

"How long has it been going on?"

Bonnie thought back on that. "Couple weeks, maybe. Not every day." She glanced up at Julie. "Think it's something bad? Like real bad, like I'm _dying?"_ She felt almost hopeful for that, shamefully enough. Life was miserable for her. She _should_ have a one-way ticket bought by fate.

"Let me do some tests and get back to you," Julie said. "You know the drill."

She gave the Followers a few samples and squared her shoulders to march out of the Old Mormon Fort. Boone trailed behind her. She waited until she was nearing the Strip gate to stop and glare at him.

"You don't have to be here," she said, crossing her arms. "I think you've made it clear how you felt." _There ya go, Bonnie. Acting an 'adult' again. Nice to know you learned something from the last mess._

He stared at her, then made an exasperated noise. "Get back to the Lucky 38," he said, "we'll talk."

It... was a start? She blinked in confusion and turned back to the gate. "Alright, but you know it's gonna be me doing most of that, talking."

No reply. _Of course._

Bonnie made it to the elevator and poured herself out into the suite before dashing for the bathroom. God _damn_ , she really hoped she was dying, this was getting ridiculous! How was she supposed to keep herself alive out there and be throwing up all over the place? She didn't even hurl this often when she'd been traumatized at Vault 3―she shuddered.

"You throw up more than any other person I have ever met," Boone said, in a low voice.

"I guess I don't deal _well_ with stress, now do I!" she shot back. "Why the _hell_ did you come back?!"

"House hired me." Boone shifted his weight and leaned on the bathroom door, staring down at her.

Bonnie rubbed her face and spat into the toliet, then stared at him. "You could have said _no―"_ she started.

"You were missing for two weeks," he interrupted. "He thought you were dead."

She growled in frustration. "So you came looking for me, because you thought I would be _dead?_ How terribly _sweet,_ thank you so much! Real _confidence booster,_ that," she snarled. She got up and pushed past him into the hall, and made a beeline for the master bedroom.

Boone attempted to follow her but she yelled and slammed the door in his face. "Goddammit, let me get dressed!"

"I've seen it before," he said, tonelessly.

Bonnie's face caught fire. Shit―she'd kind of hoped he would be too drunk to remember. He'd been so wrecked that he was sweating whiskey. "You still can't come in," she said, nervously. Moving as fast as her shaking hands would allow, she undid the dress and pulled on her armor. _Much better._ She paused before she laid her hand on the knob.

 _Think about this, Bonnie. ...He came back. He said you would talk. He's talking to you, alright._ But why, _why_ did he have to make her feel so defensive? She'd tried to protect him― _you kidnapped him, c'mon Bonnie. Don't be stupid._

She jerked the door open and stared at Boone. "The hell do we have to talk about," she asked, daringly.

"Mistakes," he said, pushing her into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Bonnie narrowed her eyes at his actions. "I have some new spiked knuckles to try out," she warned him.

He shook his head, slowly. "You said, 'Maybe you can make up for your mistakes.' "

Yeah... at Bitter Springs. She'd told him that because it felt right to say and because he'd needed the encouragement. That whole part of the trip... was for them to reconcile their individual pasts. To get her her revenge, to amend his terrible actions. And he'd kissed her after, though she'd never figured out why.

Bonnie stifled a yawn. God, she was tired. "I don't understand," she said, exhausted.

"Wanted... to say sorry." Boone didn't look away from her, holding her gaze. "Couldn't swallow my pride." He stiffened a little. "Mistakes aren't 'made up', Bonnie. They're _forgiven."_

She blinked at him, feeling confused. "You came up to call me on my shitty choice of words? Alright, whatever." Her hand went up and the other rested on her hip. "You still mad that I _kidnapped you?"_

Why she had to be so combative... she didn't know. Felt right to fight him. Maybe to push him away more, so he wouldn't come back a second time. Made her heart hurt to think about it, but if they tried to... continue whatever they'd had, she figured she'd either die for good or end up pissing him off with her antics around the desert. Like Crocker and The King's dog. Or her silly little girl-crush on Jim O'Hanrahan. She flushed at the memory.

"I am," he said. He paused for a moment. It felt like it had before, her waiting for a little bit of words that might make sense. "But next time, you'd better do what I say." His voice was firm and sounded surprisingly possessive.

"What do you mean, _next time?"_ she asked. Her heart gave a sickening thump.

 _You know what that means,_ that inner voice told her.

Boone stepped forward, placed a hand across her bullet wound, and leaned in for a kiss.

 _Yeah. That's what it meant._


	5. Royal Flush

Note: Fixed a minor inconsistency.

* * *

"Uh," Bonnie started, putting a finger up between them. "...Couple of things."

As much as she really, really... _really_ wanted to kiss him again and make everything better, Bonnie was always the practical sort. Human comfort came before ideals and she was not comfortable kissing someone she liked, if she was sporting breath that would make even a ghoul sick. Boone looked awkwardly at her for a moment.

"I was just throwing up," she said, in explanation. He nodded, just barely. Bonnie sighed and dropped her hand. "I take it this is... Your way of forgiving me? For everything?"

He stared down at her for a moment and backed up a step. "Thought about it," he said, eventually.

Bonnie got mad at that. "Boone, honestly, there isn't enough time in the world to wait for your conversational cues," she said, rudely. "I wasn't the only one at fault―you accused me of working with Caesar, even after―" _Even after you were killed by Legionaries. Yeah, he's not entirely all there, is he?_

 _Stop blaming him. Not his fault._ She bit down, hard, on her tongue and tried to stop from fighting both him and herself. It didn't work.

"Why do you still want to stay?!" she asked, pleadingly. "I mean―come _on,_ man! I've treated you like _shit_ this whole time―" _Oh, Bonnie, you've been_ such _a sweetheart―_

"You're good at forgiving. I'm... not." She clamped her mouth shut and waited, pushing away the urge to beat her own head in. It took a minute or two for him to continue.

"Good at getting things done, too. Didn't see that before," he added, in a quiet voice. He was still staring her down and it made her feel uncomfortable to know she couldn't meet his eyes. Not while hers were... full of tears.

"I wasn't trying to _hurt_ you," she mumbled, wiping her nose. Crying again, story of her damn life. She shook her head and pushed back the overwhelming emotion in her chest. "You didn't come back just because you were lonely, did you?" she asked, her brain painfully forcing her to make a jab at him. The reference to his prior conversations with her brought up an internal groan. Right after saying she wasn't―

"Think you need the help," he muttered, looking down at her ankle. "Too goddamn irritating to keep yourself out of trouble."

The weird mood broke, for her. She was all of a sudden a lot angrier at the implication that she couldn't take care of herself―she'd been alive for the last month without his help―and she still felt guilty for letting herself walk out into the desert without thinking about her own safety, because he left. "Thanks a _lot!"_ Bonnie scoffed. "I did okay up in Nellis, by myself!"

"That's where you were for two weeks?"

She nodded, animatedly. "Working with..." She stopped herself. It wouldn't be good to admit inside her employer's place of residence that she was potentially working against him. "I was talking to the Boomers."

"You haven't changed," he muttered.

"If you are referring to how I manage to walk in and out of danger without a scrape, you are mistaken," she huffed. "I got a piece of metal lodged in my back, thank you, and that wasn't nearly as fun as landing _face first_ in a chain-link fence!" She crossed her arms and looked away, scowling.

Boone chuckled. Bonnie spun her head at him and wobbled a little, from the nausea. Another thing she was pretty sure was related to that bullet she took in the head. Much as she might have come to terms with Benny and his plans and her role in the start, she wasn't exactly ready to say she regretted killing him. She had done _that_ out of respect. That was all.

"What's the _plan,_ here?" she asked him, trying to meet his eyes.

Boone didn't say anything for a moment. "Guess we go back," he answered, and lifted his hand up to her face again. She shivered at his touch.

 _Goddammit. See? This is why you're doomed. You let yourself do something really stupid because you want to care about someone else_ ―she went to smack herself in the head, but Boone caught her hand and gave her a look.

"I don't know," she muttered. "Some new thing. Probably from the bullet that got dug out of my head." She shivered again as he held her hand.

"Neither one of us is making it out alive," he said in an even voice.

"Probably not," she agreed, sullenly.

"No more tricks?"

Bonnie opened and closed her mouth. "I..." Dammit, this was harder than she'd thought it would be. She closed her eyes and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. "I'll try," she answered. It was the best she could promise, given her personality. A bit disappointing, though.

"Go brush your teeth," he said, letting go of her.

She opened her eyes and watched Boone leaving the room. The only thing she could think of was how badly everything between them was going to end, and... how badly she didn't want it to. Ever.

 _Bonnie, you―_

 _Goddamn idiot._

* * *

After something that she would not have called a nap, but guessed still qualified, Bonnie sat in the kitchen and stared at a plate of food. She needed to eat but her stomach problems were making her very leery of doing so.

Boone was... somewhere, maybe he left, she didn't know. She wasn't about to go looking for him again so quickly after having such a weird conversation. Why he wanted to just... go back to the way things had been, when she figured he wouldn't want to be anywhere near her, was _baffling._ She also didn't understand how he could still trust her. After all those stupid jokes she made about Caesar that he took seriously and her going to the Legion camp without him? _How?_

She sighed to herself and pushed other thoughts to the front. Alright, if he was coming along with her again, she could... try to talk to The King again. If she wasn't run out of the place for punching Pacer with a deadly weapon. _Dammit!_

She should definitely go and let Crocker know that she couldn't do the job, but having Boone around would make dealing with the diplomat that much harder. He wouldn't understand why she couldn't―and once again she would find herself in _the_ _same position as before,_ refusing to do something on the grounds that she didn't want to be killed. With Boone in the same position he'd been in, intractable to her opinion. She groaned to herself.

 _Goddammit. Just go talk to the Kings and deal with it. Boone is here, you'll live. Hopefully._

"Craig?" she asked, wearily. "Are you in the suite?"

There was a responding clatter and he came into the kitchen with her repeater, putting it on the table, and kicking a chair back to sit in it. A toolbox hit the table top and Boone fell into the chair, opening the metal box.

"You don't take care of anything properly," he muttered, staring at her repeater.

Bonnie pinched her mouth to the side and raised an eyebrow. "That's _my_ business, not―" Boone glared at her. She shut up and looked at the ceiling.

"Where's the beret I gave you?" he asked, after examining the repeater.

"Uhh―" she had to think. "I think it's in the bedroom." She wondered if that was a hint. _Better not be. I don't think I can pull it off, showing NCR affiliation. ...Even if I'm working for Crocker._

Boone started to take apart her cowboy repeater, pulling out a piece of some desert scrub that had gotten trapped in it. Bonnie winced. _Yep._ She hadn't been paying attention. Lucky the damn thing hadn't exploded on her.

"I feel like, if I held this upside down, the whole damn desert would pour out," he muttered.

Bonnie laughed and almost choked on a piece of prickly pear. Wasn't anything she could do about this but wonder. He was... in a weird mood. She didn't know what to expect.

"Craig," she said, hesitating. "I have to go talk to The King in Freeside." He ignored her, cleaning out more dirt from the gun. "If I go, are you coming with?"

"I guess," he said.

"You don't even _have_ to be here, if you don't want to," she snarked at him, throwing down her fork and leaning back in the chair. She crossed her arms. "What the _hell,_ man―"

Boone picked a pebble out of a spring and threw it at her, across the table. "Quiet," he said, glaring at her.

"If you think you can order me around, _now―"_ The look he gave her was downright awful. Bonnie huffed and pushed away her food. "Maybe you should stay here," she said. "Since you seem to think―"

The change in body language was not subtle. Boone laid down the repeater, adjusted his shoulders, and pushed himself upward in a sudden move. He walked around the table and grabbed her up out of her seat, and practically crushed her to death in a hug.

"Angry again," he said, almost softly.

Bonnie felt tears pricking her eyes. "Dammit, Craig." It felt good. She probably could have stood with him all day, her arms around his back, holding him.

Seemed like he felt the same way, and they stood there for a long time before she finally felt the air change and she let go. Boone pulled backwards and looked down at her, through his sunglasses. Bonnie's face felt like fire.

"I'll come with," he said, after a moment.

 _Oh, my God,_ she thought, her brain scrambling to come up with a response to the look he was giving her. It felt like she was melting, starting with her feet, but was ten times more powerful than she'd ever felt before. "Okay," she whispered, her face flushed as red as she had ever been. _Nice save!_

Somewhere inside her head, someone was laughing hysterically and she didn't know if it was herself or her inner voice.

* * *

Bonnie was entirely too flustered as they made their way back to Freeside. "Craig," she said in a wavering tone, wondering where her confidence had gone, "I punched someone in the Kings building. They might not want to let me in." He looked at her without expression. She exhaled in frustration. "The King has a cyberdog of some kind," she clarified. "I reacted badly. That's why I was out in the wastes where you found me."

"Still scared," he said, slightly amused.

"I can't exactly turn it _off!"_ Bonnie chafed at that, crossing her arms. She slowed to a stop near the Kings building. "Really. Could you... go in and tell The King I'm..." she sighed and rolled her eyes. "That I'm terrified of his dog? I'll apologize to Pacer. I promise."

A tiny smile played its way across Boone's face. "Sit tight," he said, and strode off.

She watched him go without a word, trying not to think about what was going on. _Definitely too good to be true―shit._ Sucked back into her own thoughts.

 _You'd better be careful. All these... feelings, you're having, they almost got you killed a while ago. If he calls it off again, and you're left wanting, you'll definitely die. Watch your damn back, Bonnie._

Bonnie sighed and ignored herself. It wasn't too good to be true if both parties were invested. It was _nice._ If Boone could look past her awful actions he could see that she was trying to do... _something,_ in the Mojave. He'd agreed to travel with her just because he wanted to kill Legionaries. And they had, she'd helped him with Bitter Springs... which had led to something _nice._ That kiss.

She was just taking advantage of the card she was dealt, now. Playing her hand in politics because the game wasn't over until either you folded, or everyone else did. Getting back up from being dead? _Pssh, whatever. That was just the end of two hands._ She felt like she'd just been dealt a royal flush, having Boone around again.

 _And since when are you calling this love? It was one kiss, one hug, and a one-night stand that you walked out of―you didn't even want that kind of relationship with him. After Motor-Runner? And Manius―_

Bonnie smacked herself in the face, setting her mouth into a grim smile and trying very hard not to think about anything until Boone returned.


	6. Sure As Hell No Lady

It didn't come as a surprise that Boone was angry when he finally came back. Bonnie had parked herself on a car hood and was flipping idly through a copy of _¡La Fantoma!_ as he came over to her. She stuffed the comic into her pack and looked at him, inquiringly.

"Probably for the best that you punched him," was the first thing he said.

Bonnie sighed. "So, how did it go?"

"The King wants to talk," he grumbled. "That Pacer fellow, I might shoot him myself."

"I'm sure there's a reason, but I'm not going to ask," she groused. "Okay, did The King say he'd send the dog away?"

Boone shook his head. "Not on your life," he muttered.

"Well―" She blew out a breath. "Well, what the hell?" _Guess you'll just have to take your chances, you ignoramus. Suck it up!_

Bonnie took a deep breath and let it out. Boone watched her, saying nothing. With a quick hop, she pushed herself off the car hood and walked into the Kings building. It wasn't pleasant, all those eyes on her. But after she saw how badly she'd clocked Pacer, she had to press her lips together and suppress a grin.

With a bleeding and swollen eye and a deep groove down his cheek, he looked ridiculous. He stared Bonnie down, standing in front of the door. She stared right back at him. This time she was unarmed, her weapons put away. If he wanted to fight, she'd have to take him down the old-fashioned way.

"The King says you're allowed in," he started. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Sneaky shit, sis, making a _man_ come in for you."

"Sneaky shit is locking someone into a room when they're _scared,"_ she answered, in a low tone. She moved to the door and reached for the knob. "You gonna let me through?"

Pacer grabbed her hand and twisted her arm, turning her around roughly. She grunted in pain as he bent over her shoulder, hissing in her ear. "Keep it up," he said. "Next time you hit me, it'll be the last―"

Boone grabbed him then, pulling him backward and away. Pacer jerked away from her, releasing her arm, and Bonnie spun on the man. Boone had a firm grasp on his collar, holding him tightly. The look on the sniper's face was not a pleasant one.

"I believe I have an appointment to keep," Bonnie said, pushing past Pacer and entering the room. "C'mon, Boone." It was better to ignore him; she'd met plenty of blowhards in the wastes and none had ever never listened to reason.

All that bravado she'd shown flooded out of her the minute she got into the room and saw the dog again. Boone, standing behind her, laid a hand on her upper arm and squeezed it gently. She swallowed hard and stepped forward.

"What can the King do for you?" he asked, as she approached. Bonnie didn't even notice the man, just the dog, her heart pounding in her chest.

"What?" She frowned and looked at him, keeping the dog in her periphery. She'd figured a while ago that it would be best to see what the Kings were about, before attempting to talk them into being friendly. Unfortunately, that meant she had to fudge the truth a little. "Uh. I was hoping you might have some work for me," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. But failing. Her eyes darted back to the cyberdog.

The King smiled, peaceably. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. "Maybe so. Maybe so. You look like you might be able to handle yourself. Tell you what." He leaned forward in his chair and put his chin in his hand. "You do me a favor, and I'll have some more work for you when it's done. Sound good?"

"Yeah, okay." Bonnie's eyes stayed on the dog. She really hoped that Boone had told him the truth and not some vague idea that she was weirded out by the metal-encased animal.

The King laid out a plan to uncover why a bodyguard near the gates was doing so well for himself. There were Kings out there who needed the money just as much as this man, and were just as competent, but Orris seemed to have something going on that was suspicious to The King.

"I'll be back," she promised. "I'll see what I can do." She turned to leave.

"Now, hold on a minute," The King said, and held his hand out toward her. "I need to give you a little advice about Pace."

Bonnie turned back and blinked at him. "Yeah?" The dog hadn't moved the entire time she was in the room. She'd started to relax a little.

"Ladies shouldn't punch a man's lights out," he said, his cheek twitching in a smile. "I can't say as I blame you, given what your friend here told me. But you ought to apologize."

"I had planned to," she murmured, dropping her eyes. "Maybe I should wait until he's a little less angry, though."

The King chuckled. "Make sure you follow through," he said, and gestured her away. The cyberdog's thumping tail spurred her feet to move faster.

"I need you to follow behind me, but stay hidden," she told Boone, after they'd left the building. "I'm going to put on a dress again, and do some acting." She sighed. Orris had already seen her with Boone, before, so if he got a whiff of anything weird, he'd bug out on her faster than an injured coyote.

"Not how I pictured my afternoon," Boone said. She glanced at him sharply. "...Watching you walk around with a strange man in the streets of Freeside." He sounded concerned but he was smiling.

Bonnie choked a little, startled. "You make it sound so―so lurid!" she said, turning on him. "What the _hell―"_

"Relax," he said. "It's not a problem."

She snorted and crossed her arms, walking back up to the Strip. "You shouldn't have got in the middle of me and Pacer, back there," she said.

"Not about to let some jackass put that kind of stunt," he muttered.

"Yeah, well, it's gonna make it harder to say I'm sorry," she griped. "Now I have to apologize for _both_ of us hurting his feelings." She stopped suddenly, and looked back at him. "What the hell did you tell him, anyway?"

Boone stared at her without answering. He had perfected that laconic look to the point that it would take a miracle for her to know what was going on in his head. She stared at him for a moment, trying to imitate the look without success.

"Is that how it's gonna be?" she asked. Still no response. Bonnie set her face into a frown. _"Fine._ Let's just get this shit over with."

As she went back to the Lucky 38, she wondered about how people in the Mojave seemed to have an opinion on how she should act. O'Hanrahan had done that, disguised as politeness. And now The King... that was the second time she'd been referred to as a lady. She growled a little to herself.

Bonnie McCrae was no _lady,_ sure as hell.

* * *

Three days later, after running Orris' cheating ass out of Freeside and negotiating a few workarounds with Major Kieran and her troops... Bonnie was tired as hell. This running back and forth was just fine for her, normally. Lately it had only served to make her irritated, overly hot, and too impatient.

She'd been out to visit Colonel Hsu again, who seemed pleased to see her, though his affect was much more reserved after he saw Boone with her. Bonnie knew she could have half the damn Mojave wrapped around her finger, if she wanted. Wouldn't mind it terribly much... it would certainly be a lot easier to get things done. Old Bonnie would have done that. She would have been all over the Mojave like some sort of insatiable minx, spider-legging herself over the men of every community. But old Bonnie wouldn't have a permanently pissed ex-NCR sniper with ideals behind her.

Ooh, that man―Boone following her around like he was, was fine at first. But the way he leaked his newly found "confidence" into her public conversations was making her concerned. She needed him to be cold steel in public, not acting like no one was allowed to touch her but him. Even a friendly handshake seemed to put him on edge. She didn't care how he acted in private, but the testiness needed to stop.

Bonnie had avoided making much conversation with him, since she knew he probably wouldn't bother to answer. Any time she addressed him she made sure there was someone close enough to discourage chicanery. She didn't want him to think that she was avoiding being stuck in an... _intimate_ situation with him, but... she wasn't ready for the intensity he'd brought to the table. Literally, with that hug he'd given her at the kitchen table―she really might _melt_ if he turned any more heat onto her. It was surprising as hell, given how sad and lost he'd been before. What had happened to that lonely Boone?

 _You coward. Can't handle a little bit of physical attention, anymore? What happened to you, Baby Bojean?_

She sat straight up in the Atomic Wrangler. She'd been attempting to talk to the Garrett twins. Attempting because she wasn't feeling that great today, and it was real hard to convince someone you can help them out when you're sweating like a psycho junkie in need of a fix. She sighed at herself. This line of attack was a new low.

 _No fair. You can't use that stupid nickname against me_ ―she frowned at herself. Her father had called her Baby Bojean on many occasions when she was being particularly irritating, combining her first and middle names into a bothersome nickname. It had never failed to make her behave.

 _Why not? You used to be such a whor―_

Bonnie's face twitched mercilessly. She stood up abruptly, walking out of the casino without a word. She kept walking, just like before, but this time she pulled her repeater as soon she got out of Freeside. Boone was behind her, his rifle off his back in anticipation.

"Give me a goddamn _break!"_ she snapped at him.

The quiet stare was back and it was just as infuriating as before. Bonnie held up the repeater and aimed at a yucca, blasting it a few times, before lowering the barrel and growling a little. "You're halfway up my ass right now!" She clenched her jaw. "I'm not―not used to being so―"

"Tense?" Boone smiled with one side of his mouth and hooked an arm through his rifle, pushing it onto his back.

She grumbled to herself, and started reloading. "You have to stop acting like you have been, in public," she said, lowering her tone.

"Not sure what you mean."

Bonnie narrowed her eyes at him and cocked the repeater. "I mean the possessiveness. It would be stupid to let people know that something's going on between us. Last thing I need is some asshat trying to get to you in order to draw me into a trap."

That was a lie, but it sounded just fine to her for an excuse. She raised the repeater again and scanned the area for something to shoot. He hadn't made anything clear about what he wanted from her―going back to the way things were meant awkward hugs, amazing kisses, and boring drunk sex. Since then, the one hug he'd given was not at all awkward and she was too damn sick to think about anything else.

Her stomach bubbled in response and she sighed, lowering the repeater. "What do you want from me?" she asked, facing away from him.

He came up behind her and tugged at her hair, tucked away in a bun. "Keep being Bonnie," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "Craig, right now Bonnie is irritable, miserable, and has a fully loaded cowboy repeater. You _sure_ about that one?"

"Yeah." He moved around to face her, running a hand along her arm and grabbing her wrist. His fingers grazed her skin at her knuckles, and she felt like someone had set her on fire―it was like getting electrocuted by a lamp battery!

"It's not _fair,"_ she groaned.

Boone pulled her to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "Nothing ever is," he said.

"Feels like I'm still paying your damn dues," she muttered.

"Hope not." Boone chuckled. "You died last time."

"Honestly, I think I'd rather be dead than have to deal with this nausea," she said.

He moved his hand from her wrist to her head. "You're running a fever," he said, frowning. "Let's go back to the Followers and see about that."

"Yeah, okay," she said, feeling faint.


	7. Overcurrent

Note: I think I've eliminated the hokey crap now. Maybe.

Still chock full of overthinking it

* * *

They were moving back toward the gates, passing by a couple of chem addicts who were camped by the highway, when Boone suddenly grabbed her. Bonnie hit the dirt two seconds later, tossed down roughly. She was shocked until she felt the air above her swimming with bullets, and scrambled for cover. Nausea took a backseat to combat readiness. She ducked behind a rock and watched Boone just standing there, shooting at whoever was firing at them. He grunted as a round went through his arm, his face screwed up in an angry expression.

"Get into cover!" she yelled, amazed at his reaction. Her repeater swung around the side of the rock, warily.

It was the Legion. Shit, and she was doing so good at not finding any, lately. Hadn't seen a single Legionary since her trip to the Fort. She smiled grimly. Caesar must have figured out she didn't do as he asked, hadn't destroyed the Securitrons under the hill. She couldn't think of any other reason the Legion would be after her. She aimed and fired at the nearest enemy.

She was just as surprised as the Legionary, when the bullet impacted and pierced through his armor just above the heart. He was staggered, and fell to the ground in a heap. Bonnie stared blankly at the dead Legionary for a fraction of a second, until Boone hit the rock beside her, pulling her back from the edge. He reloaded quickly while she tried to comprehend her sudden effectiveness.

"Armor piercing rounds," he muttered.

 _Oh, that explains it._ She gave him a flippant smile. "I need every advantage, huh."

"You do right now," he replied firmly, and stood back up, aiming out into the fray.

Bonnie glanced around them and kept her head low, moving away from cover toward the nearby power transformer. Putting distance between her and the enemy meant she was less likely to get shot―

One of the Legionaries broke away from the other two, following her with a sledgehammer. She ducked behind the transformer and raised her repeater as quickly as she could. The Legionary swung the hammer around, aiming for her head, and she flung herself down, landing on her hands in the dirt. The sledgehammer hit the transformer, impacting with a loud banging noise and denting the metal.

Her repeater skipped across the dirt, away from her. _Well, I didn't need it anyway!_ Bonnie pulled Love and Hate out of her pocket, slipping them on and readying herself for the next attack. The Legionary pulled his sledgehammer back and came around for a second hit. She rolled out of the way, and pushed herself off the ground to hit him. With a grunt, she stabbed her hand upward and inward. The hammer hit the transformer again and bounced backwards.

For a moment he was still and she thought her punch hadn't connected, but he dropped the weapon and moved backward, blood streaming from his left arm. Bonnie rose from the ground and punched him repeatedly in the head until he stopped moving, knocking him to the dirt and straddling him for a better angle.

Bonnie stood and stared back at the transformer, alarming noises coming from inside the metal casing. Boone was still shooting from somewhere when she called out for him, trying to figure out where he was. Only one Legionary was left―

And he was behind her, slashing her with a machete to the shoulder blade. Bonnie shrieked and flailed an arm around, busting him in the face before she felt the pain rocket through her shoulder. Adrenaline surged through her as she hit him again and again, until his face was mashed into a pulp under her knuckles. _Goddamn Legion!_

Bonnie spat on the corpse. She had come to enjoy a good fist-fight... might never go back to using her gun, if the melee kills always felt that good. She grinned, but it soon joined the adrenaline rush, slowly fading. Moving away from the body, she stumbled and threw up onto the dirt.

"Craig!" she yelled, wiping her mouth on the back of her forearm and shooting a glance around. The transformer was making a hell of a racket, popping and sizzling noises coming from it. Bonnie's eyes focused on it just before it exploded into a fireball.

She'd expected something like that, but she'd been hopeful it would blow up the Legionaries and not her. The explosion knocked the body of one of the dead Legion recruits into her, slamming the dead man's face into her skull―blood splattered everywhere from the impact. Pain lanced through her as she hit the dirt, the body forcing her down onto her back.

Boone was yelling her name again, and she couldn't tell exactly where he was. Her eyes were blinded by the flare and her head was spinning from hitting the ground. Bonnie tried to push the dead man off of her but her arm was weakened from the machete wound, and the other was trapped underneath his stomach―

 _If it ain't one thing, it's another,_ she wondered while lying under the dead man. She closed her eyes, trying to keep the blood from seeping into them. Wasn't sure if it was hers or not. She didn't think it was. She breathed in and out, and took a deeper breath.

"Craig," she called. "I'm over here!"

Boots slid in the dusty earth beside her, kicking sand into her face. She sputtered and spat it out, scowling. "Thanks!" she said, sarcastically.

The body was lifted off of her and she blinked her eyes open. "Are you alright?" he asked, business-like and cool.

 _"No,"_ she said. "But I'm not dead, and that's something." Coughing a little at the dust, she turned herself sideways and pushed herself up with the uninjured side. Her shoulder was wailing like a civil siren, and her head still swam with pain.

Boone reached around and hauled her up around the ribs, and held her around her sides for a longer than was necessary. "I'm fine," Bonnie grumbled, removing his hands from her and righting herself.

She put her hand over her shoulder and tested the wound. Her leather had stopped most of it, but it wasn't helped by her sudden jolt to the ground. Blood caked with dirt came away on her fingers. She wiped them on her leg and looked around.

Boone was behind her with his hands on her shoulder, peeling back the leather jacket to see the wound. "You're alright," he said. "Just needs cleaned."

Bonnie rubbed her head where she'd been hit by the dead body and looked back at the transformer regretfully. "My timing is all screwed up," she muttered. She shot a glance at Boone. "I know you got shot, show me how bad it is."

He held up an arm and gestured to a couple of places. Twice in the arm, once in the side. A graze along the shoulder and a round in his calf. It was a bit too much to treat in the field. Bonnie motioned for him to follow her as she trudged along the road, heading for the New Vegas Medical Clinic.

* * *

Dr. Usanagi patched them up for a much smaller fee than Bonnie had expected. She was leaning on the operating room wall, trying not to remember the past, as Usanagi removed the bullets and patched up Boone. Being friendly with the Followers had paid off, a little. It was good to know her diplomatic efforts were getting somewhere.

Bonnie was staring at Boone, sitting with his shirt off. She felt like a damn moron for enjoying the sight. She could still feel his chest hair against her hands, fingers running along his shoulder muscles. It was ridiculous, how that made her feel. Her face flushed like a drunkard's, the intoxicating feeling making her whole body come alive with warmth.

Boone didn't seem to notice her fluster, or attributed it to her previous complaint about him making her uncomfortable, and said nothing as Dr. Usanagi applied a few stimpaks in strategic areas. Bonnie closed her eyes and tried to will the memory away, replacing it with a less desirable one.

Benny, staring down at her with that pearl-handled gun pressed into the flesh of her cheek. She'd known she was about to die. He could have just shot her while she was unconscious, but because of his sense of morality he'd decided she needed to know. Maybe it made him feel like a big man to have so much power over a helpless person, a person doing a job they had no idea the consequences of; maybe he just enjoyed seeing the terror in his victim's eyes.

Honestly couldn't say she remembered any pain from the shot. Just the feel of the warm metal against her face, aiming up into her head. The smell of the gunpowder and the heat from the barrel as the bullet tore into her brain.

She shuddered a little. She remembered being conscious as she was tossed into the open grave. Thank goodness that she'd passed out before they covered her up for good.

"Bonnie."

She looked up and her eyes met Boone's. She recalled how terrible his life had been. His wife, his child, his best friend, everyone he cared about gone from his side. She wondered if he had any family other than Carla. At least she still had a mother out there, somewhere.

...Boone might only have her. She was such a horrible person. He didn't deserve that.

Her eyes dropped from the sunglasses as she pushed herself off of the wall and went to leave. Dr. Usanagi watched her leave, the sniper trailing behind, and saw them out of the building. Outside, Bonnie tried to remember what she'd been thinking before the attack. Tried to wonder what was going on with her head. She felt fried, like she really had been electrocuted.

"You didn't ask about the fever," he pointed out.

"It's gone," she muttered, "and I don't feel sick to my stomach. Drop it."

She chewed on her lip and looked around them. Right now, she ought to be reporting to Crocker the results of her missions for him. Somehow she felt a little ashamed to admit to Boone that she had been working for the NCR. He wouldn't care; hell, he'd probably applaud her. And if she decided... to go a different route, after he found out she was working with Crocker, he would probably get mad at her.

Felt like a trick. She should tell him she was working with the NCR in New Vegas, but she didn't even know what the hell she was doing half the time. Everything felt like baby-steps since the head wound, and the only time she'd ever been in her element was when she'd actively tried to talk her way out of trouble or when she was defensive. Like Colonel Hsu, she'd felt on edge then and she'd flustered him with her remarks.

That was what Bonnie McCrae was good at, ever since she'd been a teenager and ran with the gangs in Carson City. The Slickers and the Left Hands. She smiled to herself thinking about the stupid boys she'd played because she would have nowhere to sleep otherwise. Desperation made a great teacher.

What was she desperate for, now? Beyond her obvious need to get the job done with House―which she didn't know if she could even do, with her current mental state―and she couldn't turn that manipulation on Boone. That would be the last straw, her trying to use him like she'd used so many men before.

She wanted Boone to stay but she wanted him to go, because he made her feel like she was caught in a thunderstorm. She loved thunderstorms... but they were dangerous and being soaked through was annoying as piss. Much like Boone's attitude recently.

Bonnie shot a look at him. He was watching her with that stare. She looked away and frowned in frustration.

 _If you stay here in New Vegas, you'll have him forever._

 _No, I won't. Once the Legion is repelled at the Dam, he'll have no excuse for sticking around. All he wants is revenge, for Carla and the baby, and he fully intended to get himself killed before. Who's to say he doesn't still feel that way?_

 _Any port in a storm? Really, Bonnie. You're not seeing the game. Open your eyes and look at your cards._

She turned to face Boone and stared at him. He was wearing a smile that looked nothing like the grim smiles he'd put on, before. A smile that was fascinated, and directed right at her.

"You're doing good with your knuckles," he said, as she met his covered eyes.

She breathed out through her nose. Killing Legionaries at Bitter Springs. How he thanked her afterwards, after the kiss. And then their argument in Westside, which led to an awkward drunken confrontation and sex. Everything they'd had revolved around the Legion or his experiences with the Great Khans.

"Let's take a walk," she said, pointing her feet west and walking away. "I need to check something out."


	8. Bonnie The Gangster

"You know, I was gonna be a Great Khan once," Bonnie said, climbing over a rock. The mountains ahead of her loomed against the setting sun, reminding her that they needed to find a place to settle down for the night.

The path she took was circuitous. After realizing that they would have to go through the Fiend's territory to make a beeline for the mountains, she had detoured north and gone around the ruins. Vipers in the hills were the only people they met. The only creatures out and about were an occasional wild dog and a handful of geckos. She'd prudently picked prickly pears, agave and yucca along the way. If she could find a campfire, they would have a decent meal. If she could find one.

Bonnie felt a bit like a Bighorner, bouncing around on the rocks and easily moving through the mountains. She'd always been good at climbing, but her sustained agility was a bit surprising since she had been feeling sick. But she hadn't thrown up in several hours and she felt great. It had been wonderful to just wander around without thinking about what was going on in New Vegas.

Walking along the edge of the mountains, then up into the mountains, she realized that Boone wasn't as adept at climbing and jumping through the rocks as she was. Sure, he was strong, and sure, he was tireless, but he refused to climb up to the higher ledges like she had. He was about fifty feet below her right now, looking for an alternate route up to the path she'd found.

"Craig? Are you―"

He pulled himself over a rock and landed on his feet, shooting her a glare. "You said a _walk."_

Bonnie smiled, affably. "I'm surprised at you. I didn't think you'd have a problem going off-road." She turned to look up the path. "We need to find somewhere to sleep. I've been going since about three a.m. this morning."

Boone pulled his rifle out, aiming it up at the path. "Listen," he said.

A soft sound drifted over the ground, causing Bonnie to shiver unintentionally. _I swear to God,_ she thought. _If I ever get the chance to, I will blow up every cazador nest I can find!_

At least no one got stung, this time. _...Or shot in the ass._ Bonnie crouched on a high rock, her face burning, and shot at the insects from a distance while Boone took care of the ground-level threat. The worst injury of the whole encounter was her twisting her ankle when she climbed down from the rock. Boone was watching her, amused, as she hobbled up to a metal shack set into a curve of rock. Bonnie scowled and ignored him, opening the door.

"This place is a mess," she grumbled. She kicked a sarsaparilla bottle away and it clinked into three other bottles, a mess of tin cans, and various drugs scattered along the floor. Boone shut the door behind them as she looked around. There was a campfire, so she handed him the uncooked meat and plants and began to pick up the messy floor.

"Why bother," he muttered.

"Everything has a value," she answered, stuffing empty bottles into her haversack. _Even people. I wonder how much Benny paid the Khans to help hunt me down? Whatever it was, it wasn't enough._

Her face dropped into a frown. Boone wasn't going to like where they were headed. She didn't know that she would like it, either. Walking into Red Rock Canyon with a decked-out ex-NCR soldier seemed like the worst idea she'd had since she'd decided she loved the grumpy sniper.

Her hand paused on a tin can. Did she, really?

 _Yeah, you do, shut up about it already. I'm getting a little tired of this back and forth crap._

They ate silently. Bonnie stared up at the ceiling and played with a key as she chewed on a piece of gecko steak and wondered who had lived in the place. She looked at the door in the wall and then down at the key. Well, it was a safe place to sleep, and that was worth more than anything else in the wasteland.

The lower level was clearly a bootlegging operation. Beer bottles everywhere. A sign reading, "Let there be beer." Bonnie didn't feel much like drinking, even if the stuff was any good. Not―not for a while, now, actually. Seemed weird to her to be sober for more than a few days. She locked the door behind them and breathed out in relief.

There was a bed with an actual frame, not just a mattress on the floor. Bonnie grinned and sat on the bed, pulling off her boots. Boone looked around for a moment, then came over to her. "Sleep?" he asked.

"Yeah." Bonnie rubbed her shoulder and unbuckled her jacket. Usanagi said it was only a scrape, really. She had to figure out how to sew up her leather, though. And her shirt underneath was cut, enough so that it would unravel unless mended. She looked over her shoulder at the wound site and sighed.

"There's only one bed," he said, and she froze in place. Some wild emotion flew through her heart, down into her stomach and settled in her thighs. _Shit._

 _Hadn't thought about that._ Didn't think it would be a good idea, still, to encourage him. She kept her eyes on her shoulder and poked at the wound, then looked at her jacket in her lap. "You can sleep first," she said, as neutrally as possible.

"Door's locked," he replied. "Don't need to worry about that."

A shiver ran up her spine and into her scalp, prickling over her skin. "I don't think we'll both fit on the bed," she muttered, putting her jacket to the side.

"Relax, Bonnie," he said, and placed his rifle against the side of the bed. "I'm tired, anyway."

She wanted to laugh at that, but knowing what he was referring to was making her feel very conflicted. "Do... do we need to _talk_ about that?" she asked, hoping the answer was "no".

 _"Do_ we?" he asked, in reply. He stripped off his bandoleer and jacket, then kicked his boots under the bed, and laid down behind her on the mattress. After a moment he handed his sunglasses to her and she set them down on top of her jacket.

"...I don't know," she muttered, finally. She took out her repeater and looked it over, desperate for something to distract her. "How are your wounds?"

"Fine," he said, lying on his back with his hands at his stomach.

Despite what Boone had said, earlier, she doubted very much that he wanted her to continue being Bonnie. Bonnie had a lot of problems. Problems that she'd usually dealt with through sneaky tactics and large amounts of booze, along with the politician's tongue she'd inherited from her father. Drinking didn't seem to hold the same luster as it had before, after being shot in the head and suffering through the kind of "excitement" that the Mojave had to offer. And she was tired of sneaky shit. It just got more and more painful to deal with, every time.

"Why did you want to be a Khan," he asked, in a quiet voice.

She blinked and looked down at him. "I thought you didn't hear that," she said, surprised. He didn't answer. "It's a long story," she added. "Don't know if you'd care to hear it."

"Try me."

Bonnie reached back through her memories and put them into order, trying to figure out how to best tell the tale.

"After my dad died, my mom and I moved to Carson City to be with relatives," she said, placing the repeater on the floor. "Being the fool I am, I ended up running with this gang called the Slickers." She scratched her shoulder around the machete wound. "It wasn't smart. I got stabbed a couple times. There was a lot of street-fighting.

"Anyway, the rival gang was this group of rough boys that were really good at hand-to-hand fighting. I ended up getting... 'acquired'. By the gang. Sort of like spoils of war. The Slickers didn't last long after that. I would be dead if I hadn't been grabbed."

The Slickers were killed in a firefight with local authorities a week afterward. The Left Hands had kept her locked up at first―told her she was theirs and expected her to put out. Wasn't the first time she'd been in that situation, even as a teenager―certainly wasn't the _last_ ―but she'd been smart enough to finagle her way out of the mess. And worked her way out of the gang altogether, after a while.

"I talked the rival gang into joining up with a Khan encampment outside of the city," she said. "Most of them died in the initiation ritual. I was gonna join up, myself, but"―but that bastard Jon Tibbet had survived, and she was not about to let him have the opportunity to try to rape her again―"I came to my senses at the last moment and went back home." Her words were bitter, she knew. If her life had been easy, the words would never have been spoken; there was no other way she could say them.

Boone turned to look at her. "And after that?" he asked.

"My mom got remarried and I left town," she said, sourly. "Came south and found a courier job out of the Express."

Boone raised a hand and laid it on her shoulder, pulling her back onto the bed with him. She lay there beside him, her face on fire, with his arm around her. It was nice, again. Other than her crippling reluctance to let the relationship go anywhere―

 _Bonnie, you weren't stupid to run away from Carson City. Just young. You got better._

 _Yeah, but ever major decision I've made in the past thirty years has ended with me in a much more worse position than the previous one,_ she griped to herself. _And letting myself fall in love with a man who wants to single-handedly destroy a conquering army definitely qualifies as worse._

 _Hey,_ he _started this._

He _had,_ hadn't he? Bonnie glanced at Boone and saw he was staring at the ceiling, his expression blank. He'd been the one to initiate everything, even if she had to let him know it was okay to continue.

"Craig?"

"What?" he turned his eyes onto her.

"Why do you even _want_ this?"

He didn't reply, even after she waited a few minutes. Bonnie made a frustrated noise and sat up, pulling away from him. She moved her feet back to the floor and stared at the cracked linoleum. It was frustrating, trying to get him to talk. She'd understood he had... reservations. After what happened with―with Carla. It explained the possessiveness. Bonnie would not have let go of anyone if she'd had to go through what he did.

She sighed and ran a hand to her hair, pulling it loose from the bun and shaking it out. "I don't know what we're doing," she said, slowly. "Maybe we ought to not be... _friendly,_ until we know how everything is gonna turn out."

"We'll see," was all he said.

Bonnie scratched at her shoulder again. "If you don't actually talk to me, I'm going to scream," she muttered.

"There isn't much to talk about," he told her.

"What!" She huffed. "There's―a _shit-ton_ to talk about!" She glared back at him.

"Keep being Bonnie." He smiled, gently.

 _Oh, for the love of―_ "You are the most confusing person I have met in a long time," she told him. "I don't get you."

"Wouldn't be interesting otherwise." Boone yawned, covering his mouth. "Go to sleep."

Bonnie didn't feel much like sleeping anymore. Her stomach was acting up again. _Goddamn gecko steaks._ "I'm going to go outside," she said, moving to stand up.

Boone sat upright and swung his feet out, grabbing her wrist in a swift motion. "Not alone."

"Shit, Craig, I have to throw up again," she groaned. "At least let me do that in peace!"

"Then go get the bucket," he said. "And come back."

Bonnie scoffed and attempted to pry his fingers from her wrist. "Fine. Let me go."

She retrieved the bucket and sat on the edge of the bed until Boone fell asleep, and stared wearily into the air.

 _I just want everything to be normal, for once,_ she thought.

 _Get this shit done with House, then._

 _...Yeah, okay._


	9. I'm Going To Kiss You

Note: Some making out and petting in this one. Also some seriously hokey crap at the end so put your left foot out folks.

Feels like Lucille Ball up in here. 'Splaining to do

* * *

Bonnie woke up somewhat groggily, with a slight headache and a hand on her breast, under her shirt. And it was moving. Rough fingers were exploring the texture of her areola, rubbing lightly over her nipple. She opened her eyes as wide as they would go.

She went to lift her elbow and bring it back on whoever was fondling her, but paused. It took her a few seconds but she realized it was Boone behind her, touching her, and her face fell. Her cheeks flooded with warmth, embarrassed at the thought she might attack him.

She was altogether too touchy right now to enjoy the sensation. It was _good,_ but she was so―nervous. After a moment, he pinched her softly and drew away his hand.

"Bonnie?"

She flushed red to her toes. "Wh-what?"

Boone pushed himself up and leaned over her, turning her onto her back. She closed her eyes and swallowed her fright. Why was she so damn _tense?_

"I'm going to kiss you," he said.

She kept her eyes closed and felt tingling, a current running up and down her spine. "...Okay."

Boone leaned down and touched her cheek, gently, then kissed her on the lips. She caught fire―she wanted him so badly―she suppressed a moan, trying to curb her desire. _This why it's so tense, geez, Bonnie. Just give it up and give in to him again. Why are you being so dumb about this?_

She still didn't know what to do. If she could let him go that far again. _...He did aim a rifle at my head, you know._

 _Bah, he wasn't gonna shoot you. You wouldn't have seen it coming if he was._

Boone deepened the kiss, hungrily moving across her lips. It didn't feel the same as the last kiss, desperate and needy. This time it was calculated, intense, and... perfect. She felt her spine curving up, pressing herself into him unconsciously. It felt like she was going to dissolve into nothingness, if she didn't _explode_ first.

Boone wrapped one arm around her back, moving the other up under her shirt, fondling her breast again. His lips never left hers―Bonnie gasped into his mouth at his touch and jerked upwards, pushing herself into him strongly. He released her mouth abruptly and chuckled, letting her fall back into his hand.

"What are you―" she started as he laid her back down, removing his hands from her.

"Hate to ruin it," was all he said, and got up off the bed, moving away from her.

Bonnie laid there for a moment, stunned. Never had she expected that he would make the first move, especially after everything that had gone in between them. The warm spots on her face slowly faded as she waited for him to return, hopeful that he would continue.

"We're going to Red Rock Canyon?" he asked, when he came back. She hadn't moved yet, couldn't trust herself. She might turn into a puddle once her feet hit the floor.

"It was my intention," she replied. Her voice was steadier than she felt. "Wanted to see just how bad it is out there, among other things."

He made an affirmative grunt, then pushed her legs backwards on the bed and sat down. "Alright," he said. "First... we'll talk."

"Thought you said there was nothing to talk about―" Boone turned to look at her and her words failed her. He reached out and stroked her cheek again. She shivered a little, her thoughts scrambled in her head.

He let her go and Bonnie moved herself up to sit beside him, fiddling her hands in her lap. "Alright, talk, then," she said, looking down.

"You're nervous."

"That's a no-brainer," she muttered. She opened and shut her mouth once, thinking about the kiss he'd just given her. Her face warmed up again. "Boone, you―"

"Why do you do that, why do you call me by my last name sometimes." He turned his whole body to face her. "And Craig other times."

"...I don't know," she said, flushing further. "Look, I'm―" She breathed out, trying to order her thoughts. "I didn't see... this coming. It―it's confusing for me. And you... still have your revenge to get. ...For Carla."

He looked away from her, into the corner. "Yes," he said, quietly.

"I don't fit into that," she said. "I don't want to ruin any memories―"

"You won't," he muttered.

She stared at him for a moment. She didn't believe him, but she couldn't make him think any differently. What had gone on in his past―the strain between him and Manny, and Carla―she wasn't any part of that, at all. She couldn't assume anything about it unless he gave her reason. So far, she could only assume that he had been terribly broken by what he'd had to do, mercy-killing Carla and losing... everything he'd ever wanted.

She still didn't understand why he would want to have a relationship with her. After such a traumatic thing, after swearing vengeance on the Legion. _...Damn, I really should have taken him with me, that would be at least ten or twelve less Legionaries for the NCR to fight at the Dam. And none of this would be happening._ She felt guilty for wanting it not to happen.

"I don't know why you came back," she muttered. "You have every right to _hate_ me for locking you up. Didn't let you take your revenge―"

"Karma," he said, interrupting her again.

"What?" She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

He was quiet for a long time before he started to talk. Bonnie felt the strain, tried to ignore it. She could no more force his words than stop wanting... whatever he would give her. Even if she melted like ice on hot asphalt when he gave it, she _wanted_ it.

"The Legion got you." He paused and exhaled forcefully. "You died. You came back." He considered the floor for a while. "Even paying my dues, you wouldn't stay dead."

"I hope you don't have any you aren't telling me about," she muttered, bitterly. "I'm getting _real_ tired of dying."

The cool air of the cellar lay on them like a ton of bricks. Neither one of them spoke for a long while. Bonnie tried to think of something to say, anything, that would make the situation less... awkward. Boone broke the silence first, startling her.

"When you left." He cleared his throat. "That night."

Bonnie's face flushed. "I already told you―" she said, defensively.

"You were doing what I did before," he interrupted. "Saving me."

"...That _was_ the plan," she muttered. _And you lost him because of it._ Letting him be alive for that much longer was worth that. _Wasn't it?_

"Thank you," he said. "For saving me."

She felt tears prickling her eyes. It was too much, him telling her that it was absolutely okay to have gone off without him when she could have been whisked away. Like he said, she might have ended up halfway across Arizona, and no one would know. She looked away in shame.

"I think you were right about us being too alike," he was saying. "Doesn't mean we can't get along, though."

"...I guess so," she replied. "But― _hell,_ I don't know. There's so much going on in the Mojave right now. I've got House to deal with and―" she paused. "And Crocker, at the NCR embassy. But I don't think I'm going to be helping _him_ much longer."

Boone looked at her with a question in his eyes. She avoided his stare and fiddled with her hands. "It's a long story." She sighed. "Look, if you're coming with me, I need to know you aren't gonna question my motives―you know I don't want anything to do with the Legion―"

"Just want to be near you," he said, softly.

Bonnie's heart skipped a beat and she felt like a little girl, lost to her emotions. She tried to say what was on her mind, and failed again. _Wow, you're getting so rusty at playing with boys―_

 _Dammit, inner Bonnie, shut up. Boone is not a boy. He is not to be played with. Haven't we learned that lesson?_

"...Okay," she whispered.

Boone laid an arm across her shoulder and pulled her to him, tightly. She sighed into his chest and let the tears come.

"Still got it," he said, touching the corner of her eye.

She glanced up and saw him looking down at her and she'd be damned if she was gonna melt into a puddle this time. Bonnie McCrae might be scared of dying for a third time―might be leery of the Legion, and hate the goddamn Fiends―and she might be terrified of dogs―

But she wasn't gonna be scared of being in love.

"You're _terrible,_ Craig."

"...I know."

* * *

She had to give credit to the Great Khans. Bonnie waltzed into Red Rock Canyon with Boone later that day, and no one batted an eye. Other than a few nasty comments behind her back, there was little to indicate the Khans even cared. She made her way around the encampment and wondered what her life would have been like, had she joined that encampment out in Carson City.

Hard. _Very_ hard, and full of strife. With Boone behind her to remind her of the other side of the argument, she really did not envy these Khans their position in society. Pushed back by a ruthless government into a dead canyon, forced to work with what they had... she doubted very much that they would be as looked-down-upon if they had not been forced to rely on their chem sales in the Mojave to survive.

Maybe she could help them. Extend a hand to them using her influence as the infamous Courier Six. Right now the situation in the Mojave was volatile, and she was right in the center of it. She might have some influence of her own, if she put herself to it; gossip had gotten around about this woman who just would not die, who could not be killed, who was working for the single most mysterious entity in the wasteland―House. Surely she could talk a few people into making peace.

Except Papa Khan. He didn't care one whit for her, and she didn't blame him. Her reputation with the NCR being halfway decent made him see her as an enemy, and walking around with Boone did _not_ help.

She was still debating on what to do about House, after her conversation with herself the previous night. She would return to Crocker when they got back to the Strip and decline to continue working for him. ...Even if Boone might think ill of her, she wasn't feeling as confident as she had before about the NCR. After that, she would deal with House.

Being in the Khan encampment only made her decision all the more important. She couldn't help everyone. She knew that; it was stupid to think her words would carry as much weight as was required to make everyone get along. Except the Legion, fuck them, _and_ those goddamn Fiends.

There was the problem, though. Fiends made up the primary source of income for the Great Khans, and since she'd taken out Motor-Runner she had destroyed that. Bonnie felt like shit about the whole thing. She wasn't about to apologize for bashing that bastard's head in, but she wanted to make it right for them. _How?_ It was frustrating.

She sat in one of the trailers in the drug lab at Red Rock, watching Jack working. Another handsome man named Jack, another time Bonnie helped a Jack figure out how to make something. She was slightly amused at this. After she'd convinced him to start making other chems―like stimpaks, to help people and open up the Khans' stream of revenue―she'd offered to give him recipes for other chems. It wasn't something she wanted to do, morally, but she needed them to be friendly.

Jack was cooking up one of those recipes right now, while she directed him. He seemed such a happy fellow; she really hoped he wasn't sampling his own chems. He and Diane were something else, opposite ends of the spectrum. She was the business, he was the product, she was hard with her words, he was gentle with his. Bonnie liked that. It worked for them, made them attractive. Her eyes drifted to the doorway where Boone was standing. She had no idea how they worked. Didn't seem like they _were_ working, half the time.

She sighed. There was a frumentarii in the camp. Boone wasn't aware of it, yet; Bonnie figured it would be best not to tell him. Despite her sway, she couldn't convince Papa Khan of the Legion's ill-intent without earning a little more respect from the Khans. They thought she was bad ass for being impossible to kill―or something like that―but they wouldn't do as she asked without her earning it. It seemed fair.

Diane asked her to look up a fellow Khan, lost in the southwest. She agree to keep an eye out, though she didn't expect she would be traveling near the Cove anytime soon. Not without some heavy firepower or an army. She grinned. Maybe House would let her "borrow" some of his Securitrons, now that they had been upgraded. She wouldn't mind taking Boone with, then.

Bonnie adjourned from the camper once Jack ran off for supplies, and walked back toward the main camp with Boone.

"How long are we going to be here," he muttered.

She glanced at him. "Don't know." She looked around the canyon and sighed. "It's sort of important. Making friends, gathering support against the fight at the Dam."

He was quiet for a moment. "Feeling better?" he asked, changing the subject.

Bonnie grimaced at the reminder. "I guess. I feel better than last night but I haven't eaten in a while. Kind of hungry."

She stopped and pulled her haversack around. She was rummaging through the bottles and cans for something to eat when she heard a voice she'd not heard for almost fifteen years. She froze in mid-grab and almost dropped the haversack to the ground.

"If it isn't Bonnie McCrae! What the hell are you doing here, you little slut?"

 _Jon Tibbet was at Red Rock Canyon._


	10. This Is My Fight

Note: This chapter gave me a lot of trouble―trying to figure out how Boone would react and so on. My character ref was no help. (something about pulling out the All-American and there being no more Khans?) So it's a little shorter than other chapters but issues were resolved.

* * *

Bonnie felt the pain in her heart, as cold as ice. Her eyes focused on Boone and she gave him a look that was full of panic, fear, and rage. He raised an eyebrow at her, reaching back for his rifle. "No," she whispered, shuddering. _"No."_

His hands closed on the weapon and were pulling it from his back before she stopped him. "No," she repeated, shakily. "This is _my_ fight, Craig."

He nodded, let his hands drop, and stared out behind her. Bonnie breathed out, her heart fluttering and head spinning. When she'd calmed herself enough to turn around, she immediately remembered everything―his hands grabbing at her, her heart beating in panic, his teeth on her mouth. She shuddered again and looked up at Jon Tibbet.

As if her luck couldn't be _worse_ in the wastes, she was now facing down a blond-haired monster from her past in the form of a disadvantaged people she couldn't afford to piss off. He stared down at her with the same cold blue eyes, the same smirk he'd had and the same ruddy face she'd wanted to bash into a wall. And his attitude hadn't improved.

"You look like _shit."_ He laughed, obnoxiously.

It took her a moment to gather her senses enough to speak. "I would say it's nice to meet you again," she started, her voice gaining speed and anger as she went on, "but it's never nice to meet someone who deserves a beating, Jon."

"You're still mad at me?" He chortled in disbelief and smacked a hand into the chest of a Khan standing beside him, pointing at her. "This bitch been holding onto that shit for fifteen years!" He turned his gaze back to her, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, it wasn't _that_ big of a deal."

Bonnie balled her hands up into fists and narrowed her eyes at him. "What the hell are you doing in the Mojave," she asked, her voice threatening to break.

"Could ask the same of you." He smirked wider and looked down at her. "I'm _living,"_ he said, and made a rude gesture at Boone. "No thanks to your friend and his kind."

She ignored the jab at the ex-NCR soldier and stared Tibbet down, her eyes hard on his face. He only grinned ever wider, reveling in her distress and anger. "You'd better stop me, Craig," she said, keeping her eyes on the Khan. "I'm about to get us _killed."_

"You're good at getting killed." Boone chuckled. "I think you can take him."

Tibbet snorted out a nasty laugh. "You haven't changed, Bonnie. Still sleeping with whoever gets you the best bang for your buck."

Bonnie snapped, all cautionary thoughts to the wind. She threw herself at him, pounding a fist into his cheek while yelling in frustration. Tibbet ducked backward but she still connected, and stumbled forward. He grabbed her around her shoulders as her back was exposed and pulled her arms backward, pinning her. Bonnie threw her head backward and caught him on the chin, a sharp pain slicing into her scalp. He grunted in pain and loosened his hold on her arms as she stuck her leg in-between his thighs. She hooked an ankle around his and jerked his leg out with her knee, tossing him sideways to the ground.

He released her as he tumbled down, and she struck out at him with a foot, aiming for his crotch. Tibbet rolled to the side, kicking her standing leg out from under her―

She went down, sideways, onto the machete wound from the previous day. She hissed in pain and watched him getting up off the ground, rolling an arm in its socket. He grinned down at her from a relaxed pose, then put up his fists and taunted her.

"C'mon, Bonnie," he said. "You always look good with two black eyes."

 _"You son of a bitch!"_ Bonnie sprang at him from the ground, her hands in claws, aiming for his face.

He punched her deftly in the left eye and watched her reel backward, grabbing at her face. The bullet wound started spasming in reaction to the pain. Bonnie shook her head and blinked away the pain, backing down a little to gauge her options.

Tibbet wasn't advancing. He was standing his ground, and it was clear to her that him being in the Khans had improved his skills. More than her own, even if she'd managed to beat his ass down when they were teenagers. She needed to use a weapon against him to fight effectively, but it would be terrible if she were to make herself the bad guy here―

"You aren't worth the effort," she said, glaring at him. She lowered her hands slightly, but didn't relax.

"That hurts my feelings," he mocked. "Don't want to fight me, didn't want to fuck me... I must be the only man in the wasteland you _ain't_ fucked." He grinned even wider.

The words stung. She knew her past, and she knew he was being purposely rude, but it didn't make her feel any less guilty for being a shameless hussy in her youth. She swallowed the rage and summoned up what courage she had left. "I've seen what's in your pants," she muttered. "Wasn't worth it _then,_ ain't worth it _now."_

The Khan that was standing with Tibbet said something to him, under his breath, and Tibbet shot him a surprised glance. "Shit," he muttered. "Ah, _whatever._ Walk away, Bonnie. Last chance." He looked at her like he wanted to eat her alive, even though he was letting her out of the fight.

Bonnie shot him a glare and walked away. Didn't _want_ to, really, but she had no choice―the rage hadn't subsided, but she couldn't fight him here. She couldn't fight her past in this place, couldn't make herself more of a bad guy for the Khans. Had to take the high road and get the hell out of the canyon, and not come back until she had more recipes for Jack or found Anders for Diane.

She thought it ridiculous that if karma was paying her back for whatever good had happened, it did so with the only person she'd ever truly _wanted_ to kill... and she couldn't even do that.

Behind her she heard him laughing, taunting her as she walked away.

* * *

"What's the story with _that_ guy?" Boone was asking her. Bonnie planted her feet on the road and stared up into the hills near Bonnie Springs, using her repeater to track some distant movement.

"I'm not telling," she said, her words angry and tone firm. "So you can just imagine what you please." Whatever horrible things he might think up were probably less horrible than the reality, and that suited her just fine. Her eye twinged in pain, followed by the spasming of her cheek.

She followed the movement over the mountain until it disappeared. Couldn't tell what was up there―too far away. She sighed and lowered her repeater, and followed the road. They rounded a bend, through a pass in the rocks, and she stopped to investigate the nearby chain-link fence. Looked like a Pre-War parking lot―but there was nothing out here for it to be associated with.

Bonnie wandered into the little booth and her Pip-Boy registered the location as Vault 19. _Huh, that's a pretty nifty idea,_ she thought. _Better than some other disguises, but still out of place._ She looked down at the manhole below them and chewed on her cheek. Could be any number of critters down there, could be people, even. _Could have something worth selling, too._

 _"Company!"_ Boone yelled, raising his rifle. Bonnie glanced up sharply and her eyes widened―deathclaws. More than one of the raving beasts was flying at them through the gap in the rock wall opposite them, as Boone shot at them with his rifle and Bonnie stood there gaping. They were in a dead-end parking lot, no outlet but the gate the creatures were flying through and the Vault below them. The decision was easy to make.

"We can't fight them!" she called. "Not enough bullets―" She looked down at the manhole cover and grabbed the nearby prybar, pulling the cover to the side with a jerk. "Get over here!"

Boone backed up toward her, as she shimmied down into the manhole, her feet catching on the rungs of the ladder. Boone was making a lot of noise above her, and she looked up in panic as his feet hit the top of the ladder, then slipped and he fell into the hole.

She caught his back as he crumpled to the ground, bleeding from his arm. His rifle clattered nearby, the wood of the stock gouged into deeply. Bonnie pulled out her knife and immediately began cutting his sleeve off his shirt as the deathclaws above the manhole made breathy noises and scrabbled at the edges.

She peeled the sleeve back and winced at the gore that met her eyes. _Need a stimpak_ ―her pack was dumped out all over the place and she grabbed up a stimpak, injecting him in the shoulder.

Boone's eyes were shut tight, his face pale. The blood didn't stop immediately, still flowing freely over his side and her lap as he lay across it. She swore and looked around the mess on the floor for another stimpak. _Dammit how come I can't keep shit all nice―_

"Bonnie," he muttered. "Let go."

She snapped her head back around to him and realized she had a death grip on his wrist, holding it so tightly his hand was losing color. Bonnie flushed and released him, then reached out for another stimpak, injecting him again.

The blood stopped after a moment and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Gonna be a while before we can sneak out of here," she muttered.

Boone looked up at her and smiled, briefly, before removing himself from her lap. He sat up, then looked up through the manhole, and glanced around them. "Vault?"

"Nineteen," she said, put her things back into her pack. "That's what the Pip-Boy says. I figure we can look around, see if there's anything worth selling."

"Stealing again," he said.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Most people call it _scavenging,"_ she shot. "Look, I never had all that much, growing up. You learn to hoard everything, just in case."

Boone picked himself up off of the floor― _I should buy more stimpaks_ ―and retrieved his rifle while Bonnie set her pack to rights and investigated the door control panel. "Looks like it works," she murmured.

"You ruined my clothes," he was saying.

She felt the adrenaline rush leaving her and felt weakened. "Just be glad I didn't have to take the _whole_ thing off―" she flushed then, embarrassed by how it sounded.

"Another time," he muttered, moving past her to look at the door.

 _Oh, my God._ Her face burned with embarrassment. _Bonnie, I think you finally met your match._

 _Don't say that. He makes me feel like a little girl again. That's... good, right?_

 _Hell if I know, but you keep this up, you're gonna get burned up by that fire of his._

Bonnie made an exasperated noise and opened the Vault door, making her way inside. Boone followed, a knowing smile on his face.


	11. Under The Branded Bull

Note: You can take your left foot out but you gotta wave it all about... Not feeling especially confident about this chapter. I can't change the scripted events of the story, only the situation around it-Bonnie's life included.

* * *

The Vault turned out to be a bust for her. Full of Powder Gangers and geckos, two things she wasn't particularly fond of. She and Boone waited in the entryway for a couple of hours, staring at the ceiling and taking turns napping. They left without looking back.

As soon as her feet hit the streets of New Vegas, Bonnie made her way to the NCR embassy. She explained to Crocker that she couldn't curb the violence in Freeside against the squatters―he was disappointed and grew angry as she used the word―and that she was no longer going to cooperate with him. It was a simple philosophical disagreement, that was all. Boone waited silently while Crocker explained to her the problems that arose from her decision.

If violence in Freeside didn't end, Colonel Moore at the Dam would have to send soldiers into the streets and end it one way or another. Bonnie bristled at that. Didn't seem right to let NCR step all over Vegas―that's what had happened with the Great Khans, and it had gotten _them_ nowhere good. She considered Crocker for a moment, and clicked her fingernails on the edge of the desk.

"I'll see if there is an alternate option, first," she said, slowly. "If you, much like _everyone_ decent in the world, dislike the idea of there being soldiers rampantly killing folks in the streets, then you will _understand."_

Crocker was a little put off by her attitude, but conceded that it was inadvisable to allow soldiers to take over Freeside without investigating all other options. She felt that he was not being truthful with her, and all she could do was shake her head at the stupidity.

Bonnie returned to the Lucky 38 for the first time in... _five weeks...? Sheesh, it's been a while._ Not since Boone had returned had she been back, just wandered around the wastes and Freeside and slept when she could. No wonder she was so tired.

And hot. She felt like she was running a fever again, but she wasn't about to bring that up to Boone. He'd just make her go back to the Old Mormon Fort, and she didn't know that she was ready to hear what Julie had to say about her blood work. Especially not with the air cleared somewhat between her and Boone. She flushed as she remembered how he'd woken her up in the bootlegger's shack.

She made her way to speak with House while Boone reluctantly returned to the suite. House ripped into her for being late with her reporting back. It had been over a month and a half since she returned from Fortification Hill and she had to put up with a very eloquent talking-to about the necessity of her work and House's influence.

"Very tired of the bullshit, Mr. House," she groaned, staring up at the monitor.

"I'm sure you're quite upset," he replied, sarcastically. "But I am unaffected by your inconvenience. Have you done nothing of value, since our last meeting?"

"You mean, _besides_ fixing the Boomers to be on your side, or spending time with the Khans?" She huffed. "I've been working in Freeside, fighting Legionaries and blowing up shit."

"Your destructive nature is appalling, McCrae. You are very lucky I have not terminated our relationship over your damaging New Vegas. Transformers are hard to come by!"

Bonnie stared at the floor for a moment. "What's next," she asked, quietly.

He detailed two jobs. One, she discounted entirely, and refused to do it―she did not want to deal with the Brotherhood of Steel. Besides his virulent attitude toward them, all the rumors she'd ever heard were bad. Bunch of xenophobic assholes, if she recalled correctly. "Like you said, there aren't that many of them around here, and if I wanted to die by lasers I'd piss off one of your Securitrons," was all she said.

Besides, she remembered some vague story about her father being involved with the Brotherhood out in Yuba City, a story her mother refused to elaborate on. Bonnie could imagine a variety of things that would have happened between a NCR official and the tech-loving Brotherhood, and didn't really want to follow in her father's footsteps any more than she had to. _Already got martyred, goddammit._

The other option was dealing with the Omertas at Gomorrah. "I've never expected loyalty, mind you. A reliably underhanded tribe is just as constant to deal with as one that always run true. But that's just it―lately the Omertas' cooperative silence has been deafening. Not a single complaint? They're up to something."

Bonnie promised to look into it and withdrew to the suite, tired and sore. She went right the bedroom, fell face-first onto the bed and groaned. "I don't know why I agree to do half the shit he wants," she muffled to herself. "Ughhhh."

 _Hey, it's steady work. I'm pretty sure House would kick your ass to the curb if you weren't so convenient to his plans. Enjoy the cushy digs, too. It won't last forever._

 _It's gonna get me killed, again._

After a few minutes of enjoying the prone position, doing absolutely nothing and thinking nothing, she dragged herself out of bed and bathed. Much as she enjoyed the armor's benefits, it was uncomfortably tight― _Shit._ Living in New Vegas was spoiling her! How the hell did she manage to gain weight, even while throwing up so much?

 _Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait._

Her hand ran across her stomach, feeling the branded bull, the tightness.

 _Oh, what the fu―_

* * *

Bonnie stormed into Gomorrah with nothing more than Love and Hate, a Pre-War dress, and enough frustration to sink the Lady back into Lake Mead from the air. She was alone and cocky and she got herself into trouble within fifteen minutes, because if Bonnie McCrae was good at _anything_ she was definitely good at getting herself hurt.

She sneaked out and left Boone behind because she didn't want to think about her troubling suspicions and because she felt like a goddamn idiot for not noticing before. If her suspicions were true―she was straight-out _fucked._

At this point she wanted to be wrong, and if Boone got mad for her sneaking off that was just fine. It wasn't like the Omertas were that much of a challenge, even. She could handle herself. She needed to, to reinforce her capability, to remind herself that she'd walked into that stupid fort on the hill and walked away without a goddamn scratch.

Bonnie smooth-talked her way up to the big bosses, flirted with Big Sal―and gagged in private about it, afterward, because that man was not at _all_ attractive―and laid out some plans with Troike and Cachino. She didn't even want to _think_ about what would happen to the prostitutes at Gomorrah, should the Omerta's stupid plans actually take effect. They had no idea how ruthless the Legion was! They thought they would be spared!

 _What a bunch of fucking morons._

She kind of felt bad for Troike, being blackmailed like he was. He wasn't all that great of a person. Stupid when it came to people, even if he knew his stuff regarding bombs. Cachino was an asshole too, but compared to the Legion― _well. We can't all be angels, can we._

No one in this casino would ever be going anywhere but hell, _including_ her.

She wished she'd had something better than her melee weapon when it came time to face down Nero. _What a dumb name, should have seen it coming._ Bonnie was crouched behind the desk, waiting for him stop to reload as Cachino was shooting up the Omerta boss from the other end of the cover. Big Sal lay on the floor, twitching occasionally, a bullet in his head. Bonnie knew that feeling. She grinned in a manic sort of sympathy.

 _But that's how you roll in Vegas! On the ground with a bullet in your head!_

Nero started to reload and Bonnie vaulted over the desk, launching herself at him. He dodged to the side, leaving her to bounce off the couch. She looked up as he brought down his carbine onto her temple and pain shot through her head. Nero slammed her face with the carbine again and she started to fade out, but stayed conscious long enough to see Nero getting shot through the neck by Cachino.

 _Hah, serves him right!_

Her eyes closed and she passed out.

* * *

 _Oh, man, you are in so much trouble, Bonnie._

It was an hour later when she went back to the Lucky 38, slammed open and shut the fridge door and ate dinner. The lights on the Strip were just coming on and Bonnie ignored the looks that Boone gave her. She did have two black eyes, now; the left one given by Tibbet at Red Rock Canyon and the right by the butt of Nero's carbine. She said nothing to him about the bruises, and he didn't ask.

"Where did you go?" he asked, barely containing his anger. Good, he was angry again. Would make it easier, if she needed to―

 _Bonnie, don't do this. Don't destroy something nice because you're scared again._

She jerked and caught herself before she smacked herself again. _Dammit!_ "Dealt with the Omertas," she muttered. "I am perfectly capable of handling my own jobs. You _know_ that."

He looked stung by her words and that made her heart hurt. But she should have pushed him away to begin with, shouldn't have let him hold her or even touch her. She should not have gotten involved with anyone, especially after finding out that she was being drawn into the intrigue here in New Vegas. She'd asked for trouble and she'd gotten it tenfold.

"Gear up," she said, firmly.

He gave her a questioning glance. She shoved a piece of brahmin in her mouth and felt her stomach bubbling with nerves.

"We're goan t'Cottowooh Cove," she added, talking around the food.

Boone turned in his seat to face her, his bare arm laying on the table. "You don't have a reason to," he said, his voice strained.

"I promised you I would help you kill Legionaries," she pointed out, after she'd swallowed. "And I intend to _keep_ that promise. Are you going to come with me or am I wasting my time?"

"You're angry," he muttered. "Why."

"Maybe I'm fucking _tired_ of being House's stupid errand boy," she grumbled back. "Maybe I just feel like kicking someone's ass after getting mine handed to me so much, lately." She glared at her plate and exhaled painfully. "Maybe I got _brain damage._ I don't even know what the _hell_ I'm doing, half the time."

He didn't reply. Bonnie finished eating and removed her plate to the sink. When she turned around, Boone was standing behind her. He put one hand out and leaned onto the wall, pushing himself into her and kissing her strongly. His other hand came around her hips and held her lower body to his, pressing her ass into the counter edge and trapping her.

She muffled out a complaint and dislodged herself from his mouth, throwing a finger up into his face. "You _know_ I don't like being held down," she growled.

Boone moved his hand up her side to her face, touching her cheek. "I won't," he said. "But if we're going to the Cove..."

"No," she said. "Just _no._ You can't trust me, man." She frowned at him.

"What happened," he asked, inches from her face. "You're acting different."

"I'm acting like me," she grumbled, pushing him back a little, and moving to the side. "Nothing special about _that._ Just being Bonnie the bitch."

Boone grabbed her and pulled her back against him, his chest against her back. She felt the hot air he breathed down her back and flashed back to that night before she left him, shivering against the memory. She... wanted _that,_ again, but better; but she couldn't afford to play around right now, especially if her suspicions turned out to be depressingly correct.

His arms lowered on her stomach and squeezed her into him, then he paused. Her eyes flew open, and she tried to pry him off of her.

 _Too late, Bonnie. You said it yourself, Boone is not to be played. He's not stupid. He'd figure it out on his own._

Tears stung at her eyes and she sighed. Boone's hand rubbed against the rough fabric of the dress, feeling her stomach quickly. "Christ," he breathed out, disbelievingly. _"Bonnie."_

"Gear up," she mumbled, pulling herself away from him. "We have unfinished business."

She darted off into her bedroom and sat against the door so he couldn't push his way in, sobbing into her hands.


	12. Boone-proof

Note: Whoa, did you _see_ that shark I just jumped!?

Second Note: Fixed a minor problem, sorry about that. confusing

* * *

"Bonnie, wait!"

She shuddered in fear, legs curled underneath her and leaning on the bedroom door. _The Legion should have killed you at that shack. Benny shouldn't have buried you without double-checking. Shouldn't be alive. Shouldn't even have been able to let **this** happen._

She reached up and locked the door without looking. Shuffling sounds in the hallway were enough to make her chest tighten. No way could she face him right now. The last time―it had ended so _badly_ for him, last time.

 _Why are you still alive? Ought to have clocked out in Goodsprings, or in the cap-counterfeiting shack. There's no reason for you to be alive. No reason for this to have even happened._

She breathed out and fought back against the thoughts. _Guess it's fate. I died twice already, paying for all the good things that have happened to me. Probably die again, for this._

 _You... you think this is a **good** thing?_ Her inner voice was incredulous now, rising in pitch inside her head. _I knew you were dumb, but Jesus Christ―this is **ridiculous!**_

 _It's taken me thirty years to find him,_ she told herself. _I've lived such a fucking hard life. Thirty years of pain and anguish and terror, and he makes that go away. If karma gave me him, why wouldn't it be a good thing to have his―_

 _Because of who you **are,** that's why. Did you forget about Courier Six? You can't reasonably expect that this is going to end without someone getting shot. And it **will** be you. **Again.** Third time's the charm, right?_

 _Shut the hell up!_ Bonnie brought her hand up to smack herself in the face, but it wasn't automatic. This time she was doing it on purpose. She shuddered, and threw her hand down. It felt like her mind was trying to split itself into two halves, and she didn't like that. Had to stay sane, find a distraction.

Scooting across the floor and opening her gun case, she assessed her firepower. Nothing more than a few spare parts she'd kept for the repeater, one shotgun, and some pistols she'd kept as a backup. She unloaded the shotgun and inspected the ammunition.

 _We aren't seriously going to go to the Cove like this―just―please!_

 _What is this 'we' shit?_ she asked herself. _There's only one me. You're just here because I got shot in the head. Just a way to keep myself sane._

 _You think you made your way to Camp Golf on your own? Goddammit, Bonnie, we go through this **every** time! I always have to cover your ass when you do something so ridiculously stupid―_

Bonnie picked up a pistol. _Maybe it'd be better just to end it all right now. You can't tell me what to do if I'm dead._

 _Dying never helped you **before,** you idiot._

No, it hadn't. It had only made things worse. Bonnie rubbed her face with her free hand and felt the scar along her left cheek. She thought about Benny and how he'd accepted death in the end, and how she had given him a honorable death. She'd owed him that, because...

She wouldn't have met Boone, if she hadn't been shot by Benny. Wouldn't have had a chance to fall in love, if she hadn't been destroyed by the Legion. She'd wondered why Boone acted so different after the torture; now she wondered if... if she had given him a reason to live past what he had done in life.

Shooting herself would certainly take that reason away. The thought of deliberately hurting him outweighed any pain she could cause for herself. Bonnie swallowed hard and dropped the pistol, throwing it away from her. It clattered to the corner of the wardrobe and she stared at it for a moment. Tried to imagine that she didn't care what would happen to him if she died. It didn't work.

Nothing was ever fair, he was right about that. _This_ was not fair. But it was a game-changer. It meant she had to stop playing nice. She had to up the ante and play the game as it was intended to be played, or neither one of them were going to be alive when the hand ended.

She didn't want to see Boone die. And she was not going to let herself be killed in this goddamn desert _again._

* * *

He waited outside the bedroom door for almost three whole hours before she mustered the courage to open it. Hearing him out in the hallway, and knowing he was waiting for her to unlock it, made her wait an extra half-hour out of sheer nervousness. But he was a sniper, he _knew_ how to wait. He wasn't going to go away.

Bonnie was more impatient than a small child with a birthday present, when it came to waiting. She turned the lock with a sigh. _Screw unpeeling the layers. We'll have to cut this onion in half._

The door slammed open and Bonnie was swept up into Boone's arms, deposited on the bed, and his hand was up her dress. She lost her breath for a moment, too shocked to respond to the sudden motion and invasion of space.

He was feeling her stomach, his fingers tracing over the branded bull. Her heart ached, knowing what lay underneath the scar. Boone shot her a glance―his sunglasses were gone and his eyes red. He looked distressed, and she closed her eyes against the pain. His hands moved up to her buttons and began undoing them, hurriedly.

"Craig―" She pushed herself up on her elbows.

"Were you going to _tell_ me?"

She fell back onto the bed and sighed. "I didn't know."

He didn't reply, just kept messing with her outfit. His hand went down her top, onto her stomach. After a moment he withdrew, sitting back onto one leg. His knee slipped off the mattress and he slumped onto the edge of the bed, sitting with his hands over his face.

"I really _didn't,"_ she said, running her hand along her stomach, the branded bull still vivid against her skin. A bulge was just barely showing, hard to the touch with taut skin over it.

Boone's hands slipped down off his face. He started laughing. It was not a good laugh, filled with incredulity and hard strain. Bonnie hurt to hear it.

"Craig?" she said.

His head swiveled sharply, his face turned to meet hers. She pressed her mouth together, fighting the urge to burst into tears at his expression. It was... the word _wretched_ came to mind. So much pain. So much restrained anger―and fear. Fear was there and that was going to make her cry if she didn't look away.

So she did. "I..." She sighed again. "I don't know what to say."

"I asked for no tricks," he said, his voice hard. "Is that hard, Bonnie?"

"Fuck you, Craig," she sputtered, and started crying. _"I didn't know!"_ She curled up on her side, wishing she could hide under the bed cover.

He didn't trust her! He shouldn't have come back! She would have died on her own, if he hadn't come back. Probably would be lying somewhere out in the desert, a Legion patrol walking away from her corpse. She deserved to be dead with how she'd acted, denying him what he'd wanted so badly. His revenge, his chance to get over what had happened in the past.

But if she'd just taken him with her to see Caesar, instead of running away from him, they'd both be dead. She felt that like a stab to the heart, clutching her chest in response.

"Sure as hell not going to the Cove, now," he muttered. "Not now, not ever."

 _...You should have listened to me. This wouldn't hurt so much if you had._ "I'll go if I have to," she choked out.

 _Goddammit! What the hell, brain?!_ Her cheek started off, twitching in reaction to the stress. Bonnie hid her face under a pillow.

"This is what I meant. About _next time_ ," he said, frustrated. He turned on the bed, making it creak under the weight. "Why do you make everything a trial?"

"I'm always to blame," she muffled out. "But I ain't pleading guilty to this―"

"Maybe you should."

That made her angry. She sat up and threw the pillow at him. It bounced off of him and landed on the floor, and he didn't react. "I can't just _give in!_ I have to fight! If I didn't―I'd just die _again,_ and―" _And you only get one second chance._ She muffled her words, stuffing her face into her hands.

Boone stared at her. "You gave in, before. That night."

She groaned in frustration. "You were drunk. And arguing with me! And I―" she curled her hands up at her eyes. "...I _wanted_ it. I gave in and then I did what needed to be done. What I _couldn't_ do with you around." She sighed. "...It was probably a mistake."

For a moment, he didn't react. She clenched her fists and felt her knuckles digging into her black eyes, the pain reminding her that she'd made so many damn mistakes. _So_ many.

"Wasn't a mistake," he said, slowly. "Wasn't fair, though."

"Told you you could make it up," she muttered, remembering. It seemed a stupid thing to remember, right now.

"I would, if you let me," he said. She peeked out over her hands to see him pulling off the bandoleer of his outfit. It fell to the floor. He leaned forward, untying his boots. "Make it up."

"How is _that_ the answer to―" she started, dropping her hands into her lap.

"I owe you," he said, interrupting her. He kicked off his boots and began unbuttoning his jacket.

"It's just another mistake," she said, frowning in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Works better that way," he said, in a calm voice. "Don't think about it."

Bonnie groaned. "You're so damn frustrating!"

"You're one to talk," he replied.

"Boone―"

"Craig," he said, interrupting her. He looked at her over a sleeve, arms suspended in the air as he removed his jacket. "Craig."

She breathed out through her nose. "Fine. _Craig."_ She pushed herself up to a sitting position. "We're both gonna die out there, you said it yourself. We don't have time for shit like― _this."_ Her hands went to her stomach. "Would be better to go poke a sharp stick at the Legion and see what happens. At least then we'd be doing something― _worthwhile,_ when we _die."_

His jacket landed in a pile on the floor and he removed his shirt, then reached back and grabbed her, pulling her to the edge of the bed. Her head landed on his thigh, and she looked up at him, very confused. He wasn't looking at her, just holding her there and staring into space.

"When... Carla, got pregnant," he said, staring at the wall opposite her, "it was a surprise. Didn't know what to do."

 _I don't know what to do, either._

He stroked her hair gently. A moment passed in silence. "...I was scared. It was a good thing." He looked down at her. "But I _was_ scared."

 _No arguments here._ She looked away, her face flushed.

"Everything I ever did," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I did to protect her. _I failed._ She died because of me."

"Craig―"

"And you..." he said, "...you didn't die. I failed you, too. ...But you _didn't_ die."

"You make me sound like I'm Boone-proof," she muttered.

"...Maybe you are."

Bonnie sputtered out a bitter laugh. "That's ridiculous."

"Bonnie." She turned her eyes back on him. "We can go forward from this. Guaranteed."

The look in his eyes and the heaviness of the room pressing down on her heart... she started to cry again. All the things she'd ever said to him coming back on her―she closed her eyes and willed herself to stop crying, to pull it together.

That was when he picked her up and held her, and kissed her.

He made all the pain go away, again.


	13. Play The Game

Note: Decided ya'll can use your imagination this time around. Getting closer to the Dam now...

Edit: I'm no longer allowed to edit while sleepy

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Bonnie woke up without feeling ill at ease, being trapped in a jail cell, lying half-dead in a hospital bed, or roughing it on a cardboard mat. She felt completely normal, like the world wasn't falling apart around her. Like everything she'd done was done by some other person, some other wasteland legend.

She did have some trouble breathing, though. Pretty sure that had a lot to do with the heavy arm that had her pinned to the mattress around her ribs. She wiggled an arm behind her and tickled Boone on the side, pulling a few strands of hair by accident. He jerked upward and away, and Bonnie slipped out of the bed to the floor in a smooth move.

 _That's shameful,_ she thought. _I know the best way to get out of bed the morning after._ She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, looking for her clothes.

Boone snored. Not loudly, just enough to get her attention. Bonnie watched him sleeping for a moment, the rise and fall of the bed sheet, his face squished into the pillow. Mouth slightly open and arm laid out over her side of the bed. He looked like a little boy, sleeping all innocently. Given what they had been doing... she highly doubted there was an innocent bone in his entire body. Her cheeks caught fire and she looked forward quickly.

 _Next step. Okay. Have to go talk to House. Have to..._ she frowned to herself. _Have to talk to Yes Man._

Before Bonnie had gone to see Crocker, she'd sold a lot of things to the various merchants around the Strip. On a whim, she'd gone to the Tops casino again and spoken with Swank. Visited Benny's suite, learned about Yes Man. Benny's ace in the hole, how he planned to take over Vegas. She felt her cheek absently. Why he'd shot her for the platinum chip.

She laid down her jacket and looked at the wall, opposite her. Yes Man could be the answer to a lot of her problems. If he... were in place of House, like Benny had wanted, and she was the one telling him what to do... A hand unconsciously drifted to the branded bull.

It wouldn't be what Boone wanted. It wouldn't be an NCR victory in the Mojave. It would be an independent Vegas. Like she'd thought best, when she started to take the game that much more seriously. But...

She looked back at Boone. She harbored no true ill-will against the NCR. Sure, they'd done some pretty despicable things to people across the wastes―including the Great Khans―but they were just decent folk and soldiers. Soldiers like Boone who just wanted to make the world a better place, even if it meant siding with a party that sometimes did awful things. He, of all people, knew that to be true.

No one could hold to the moral high ground the NCR portrayed, in the Mojave. They touted themselves as the only alternative to the Legion because they would not smash, enslave, or otherwise destroy communities. Political enslavement was considered better than losing the desert to the Legion.

Bonnie had used immorality to survive for so long, she was one step higher than a whore. She'd survived like the people in Nipton had, taking opportunity as it presented itself to make money or using wiles to get out of a scrape. Nipton had been destroyed by the Legion. They had not come back like she had.

Her mouth set into a firm line across her face. Even if places like Nipton were full of people looking to make the next buck, the Mojave did not deserve to be run over by a large and ever-expanding faction. Whether it was the Legion or the NCR, New Vegas needed to be free. Free of all that heavy-handed preaching that House gave and free of external politics.

No one side was right. Not even her personal opinion was right. Vegas was a den of inequity the likes of which had never been seen before, and would never be seen again... if it was taken apart by the NCR or Legion.

 _Well._ She looked down at her stomach. _It's a good thing I always liked doing things the hard way._

* * *

Bonnie stared down the terminal in the penthouse. In her hand she held the platinum chip, and in her head she knew she needed to suss out the true nature of House. From her prior conversations she knew the terminal was important. House warned her off of it, acted testy. It was something important. She breathed out and touched the keys.

After a moment of typing, the wall opened and House's Securitrons started to attack. Bonnie swore and slid into the room, jamming her fingers into the console at the elevator and ducking inside the metal doors.

Her shoulder burned. Laser burns through her armor. She checked herself on the ride down and was disappointed to find that she had taken more hits than she'd thought. In addition to her black eyes she now smelled like a cooked steak. _Goddamn robots._

She stepped out onto a metal catwalk in the bowels of the Lucky 38, glancing around the room before striding out to a console on the opposite end. Some sort of glass-covered pod lay in front of her. She poked at the computer for a moment.

 _Holy―_

That made so much sense, now didn't it! Bonnie activated the life support pod and stared down House in all his withered glory, twitching ever so slightly inside his glass case. _Like Snow White,_ she thought. _Waiting for a kiss to wake him up._ But the world he would wake up to was no damn fairy tale, that was for sure.

She checked her pistol and tilted her head to the side, then spoke. "Mr. House."

"Why have you... done this?... centuries of preparation... so much good, undone..."

She considered the shell of a man for a moment. "I'm not working for you any longer, Mr. House." She gestured to his setup in the room. "Your lofty ideals won't work for this world we live in. People will _always_ be at war; war never changes. It's a high-stakes game, and we all play it. You've been stuck inside this tower for so long, you forgot _how."_

He stared at her for a moment, breathing in raggedly. She adjusted her feet, anchoring herself, and collected her thoughts.

"I might not be able to guide Vegas with the same enduring perspicacity as you―" she said, holding up her pistol and aiming it at him "―but I _can_ play the game a hell of a lot better."

"...You sad, misguided... whore."

Bonnie shot him in the head.

* * *

"Just shut _up!"_ she yelled at Yes Man. The smiling face stared at her from the console ahead of her, silently. Bonnie felt more self-conscious about her actions than ever with the program installed into the Lucky 38... and he wasn't even a real person! God, he was more annoying that her own thoughts!

She'd dealt with everything she possibly could, at this point. Khans, Boomers, Omertas, White Gloves, and more. That... thing with the substation that had almost cost her a few fingers and had drawn Boone's ire. He wasn't very happy with her.

The NCR wasn't particularly happy with her, either. But Bonnie didn't care what they thought. She did care what Boone thought, but at this point she didn't have any option but to go forward. She was so fucking _tired._ ...At least she'd stopped throwing up.

"What's the next step, Yes Man?"

He paused, then started that inane cheerfulness again. "Here's some big news! I decoded a military radio transmission, and it turns out the NCR President, Aaron Kimball, is going to visit Hoover Dam!"

"Whoop-dee- _fucking_ -do," she grumbled.

"I guess he wants to boost the troops' morale! But according to projections Mr. House made, he has an 83.75% chance of being assassinated! Oops!" The screen flickered slightly. "Anyway, it looks like Mr. House thought it was important to keep President Kimball alive..."

 _Goddammit._

* * *

Boone was saying something about the assassination attempt. Bonnie was distracted by the search dog nearby, and wasn't paying attention to him. The fear inside her chest was dampened by the seriousness of the situation―but dammit, it was _still_ _a dog―_

"Bonnie." Boone laid a hand on her shoulder and she jumped. "Ignore it."

"Shit," she mumbled. _"I―"_

He pulled her around by a hand and nodded to the audience near the stage. The sun was high and the crowd milled around the platform, waiting for the President's vertibird to show up. "If you show fear, someone will take advantage," Boone said.

She stared at him for a moment, and nodded. She had to be as calm and collected as possible, now. _Everything_ depended on it.

They hadn't discussed her plans for Vegas. Boone was aware she wasn't working with the NCR anymore, but he had not said a word about it. He hadn't been as affectionate, either. She was sort of grateful for that; she felt as uncomfortable as sand up your ass. Dried out, gritty, rubbed raw. Didn't want to be touched.

She glanced around again and a white outfit caught her eye. An engineer had just joined the crowd at the Dam, waiting to hear Kimball's speech. Bonnie pursed her lips. Earlier she and Boone had found a bloodstain under a stairwell, suspicious enough on its own. Along with a report of a missing engineer... Maybe she should check, just in case.

 _If I were Legion, and I wanted to kill the President..._ she sighed. _I'd sleep with the man, somehow. What I shoulda done with Benny, shoulda talked him into bed and stabbed him through the sternum after he was too tired to move._ ...But sneaking around like a prickly pear in a cactus patch was also an option. Significantly less personal, but still effective. She eyed the back of the man's head and turned to Boone.

"Stay here and watch out for the possible sniper situation," she said.

"Wher―"

"I'm going to go look around again." Boone didn't look happy about that. "Calm down," she added. "It's not like I'll be out of eyesight. Just gonna go talk to some people in the crowd."

Boone breathed out and looked at her with an apprehensive stare. "Bonnie..."

"I understand your reluctance to let me be involved with what's going on," she said, lowering her voice. "I don't like it, _either._ But I doubt you would allow the man to be killed."

"I'm not losing―" He was dangerously close to looking distressed again.

"Craig!" she hissed, drawing her eyebrows together in a frown. "Not here, not _now._ You do things my way right now. Courier Six _has_ to be here, anyway. Social obligations."

He sighed, and pulled something from his pocket. She looked down. He was handing her the First Recon beret again. The same one he'd given her before―still had the blood stain from their trip to Bitter Springs on the brim. She stared at it for a moment before turning her eyes to his face. "You know I don't like showing sides―"

"Just for today," he muttered. "Just this once pretend you're on my side."

She gaped at him, frowning. "What― _ooooh!"_ She snatched the beret from his hands and stomped away from him, muttering to herself.

 _Kid, if you manage to make it out alive―which is entirely unlikely―I hope you are twice as stubborn as your damn parents. Won't survive very long if you ain't._ She put the beret on and pressed her mouth so tightly her lips went white.

"Leave me alone. I'm trying to pay attention," the engineer said, as Bonnie attempted to speak to him. She stumbled forward, bumping into him completely accidentally.

Her fingers brushed against a hard box in his pocket and she didn't even think. Just picked it straight out of the man's pants and retreated with a burning face and tensed muscles. She wasn't―okay, she was a thief on occasion but only when it was necessary. She hadn't _meant_ to trip. This was... fortunate. And she needed to take advantage of that fortune when it came.

Once she'd backed away to a respectable distance, she examined the thing she'd stolen.

That was their game, now was it?


	14. It Had To Be You

Note: "Reimagined". I know it's out of order. But you know Bonnie, always delaying things till she _has_ to... (also, song might be wrong but eh it fits)

* * *

Bonnie's diplomacy failed her temporarily while she attempted to make the bombing plan known. For a few minutes she was afraid that the ranger, whose name escaped her, was accusing _her_ of being the bomber. He kept asking her where she'd found the detonator, making her repeat herself three times. Her heart sank when she realized he was suspicious.

She was incredibly sick to her stomach from nerves. She watched as two rangers approached the engineer in the crowd and one was shot. Bonnie made it to the railing, and was throwing up from the stress as Boone came up behind her. He laid a hand on her shoulder and she shook it off, shooting him a glare. He removed it immediately.

"Bonnie," he said, looking down at her as she curved over the railing. The First Recon beret fluttered on her head in the wind and she grabbed it, stuffing it into the collar of her jacket so it wouldn't blow away.

She was so damn sick of her bad luck countering the good. This... could have been horribly bad, if she wasn't able to pick up her own slack. Grumbling, she stared out over the Colorado River and thought about the Legion being right there. Right where she could throw a stone and hit a recruit. Right where she knew they were, and she'd had the opportunity to take Caesar down, but her cowardice had stopped her.

But it didn't matter much. Not now, anyway. The bombing attempt was over. Kimball was safe and all she wanted to do was go to the Lucky 38 and sleep for a whole day.

"Take me home, Craig," she muttered, nearly sliding to her knees on the concrete beside the railing.

He sighed and peeled her off the ground.

* * *

"Power's on in Vegas," she muttered to herself. "Boomers are behind me one hundred percent. Khans..." she sighed. "Could use improvement. Freeside, also needs improvement... NCR not very fond of me." She looked over her arms on the edges of the bathtub and pulled herself out of the water.

"Omertas have new leadership. White Gloves are nothing to bother with. Chairmen... hmm." She hadn't actually asked Swank for any support. The way he flirted with her―shit, it was just his job, she knew. All the Chairmen were smooth like that. She stared at her wrinkled fingertips and rubbed them on her shirt. Like herself, they understood the necessity of a firm hand and a silver tongue.

"Chairmen are nothing to bother with," she told herself, assertively. "Check, check, _check,_ for all factions on the Strip. Need to..." She sighed in exasperation. "Need to apologize to Pacer still. Need to stop the violence in Freeside."

For a moment, Bonnie stared at her stomach and prodded it gently. It was still hard to believe. For almost sixteen years she'd been making the rounds in the west and she'd never managed to get herself pregnant before.

Boone hadn't said much of anything about it. When he did talk it was mostly him acting preoccupied. She hadn't brought it up; she was still worried how he was going to react when they finally hit the Dam in the battle against the Legion. How he would feel about her being shot at and having spears chucked at her. How he would take action if she were jabbed with a thermic lance. She ached thinking about the pain that would come, but it was inevitable.

He still acted possessive. Still wouldn't let her out of eyesight for more than a minute. He was probably waiting outside the bathroom door for her to get out. He would probably scoop her up after she did leave the bathroom and make her go lie down in the bedroom―which she intended to do anyway, she was very exhausted―and just lie there with her, holding her. And he would probably start tickling her again.

Bonnie growled a little under her breath. She'd like to punch him for tickling her, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Boone would just lie there like an idiot, watching her twitching, a funny little smile across his face. Eventually she would get so cross with him she'd threaten to lock him into the Lucky 38 again and he would lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling while the smile disappeared from his face.

It had happened twice already. Bonnie scowled and brushed her wet hair back up off her forehead. Every time, she felt bad. She wondered what had gone through his mind when he'd been stuck there before, when she left to see Caesar. To get the chip back.

That just made her feel _worse._ Anger at her being gone, panic at being locked up, probably. Maybe he'd felt as strongly as her and had been in heartsick agony, she didn't know. She'd been in agony for all of their relationship.

"Okay, enough of that crap," she muttered to herself. It was time to go give Pacer an apology, and talk to The King.

* * *

"Didn't think you'd be back, Sis," Pacer said, as she approached the door to the theater inside the Kings building. "Haven't seen you in a while." His eyes slid over her shoulder to stare at Boone, his lower lip twisting in a sneer.

"I need to apologize to you," Bonnie said. "I was very rude when I left the building after my first visit. I should not have punched you, and I should not have agitated you upon my return. My companion should not have acted with such bad manners, either. I'm sorry."

Pacer's sneer turned upright and a sly smile came across his face. "You gonna kiss it and make it better?" he asked, his eyes lit up.

"I swear, all you boys in Vegas have brains in your pecker," she muttered. She looked him straight in the eyes without flinching. "On the cheek."

"Yeah, sure," he replied, like he didn't believe her. She moved forward toward the man, keeping her hands loose in case he tried something funny. Love and Hate were only a pocket away, right now.

Boone's arm swung around and pulled her backward into him, glaring at Pacer with a deadly look in his eyes. "No," he said, with the most anger she'd ever heard him force into one word.

Pacer shrugged. "You gonna be _difficult_ about it..." He stared at Bonnie, his eyes cool in his face. "On the mouth, now, sis." The sly smile stayed.

She pushed back on Boone and removed his arm with some effort, pulling his collar so that he could hear her when she whispered in his ear. "I asked you," she hissed. "To _not_ question my motives."

"This is too much," Boone growled back.

"I know," she answered. "But I am irritated enough as it is, right now, and you are acting possessive in public. _Very_ close to losing my temper, Craig!"

She knew he was staring daggers at Pacer, from the awkward position over her shoulder. If she were in a different standing with the gang, she wouldn't have any problem with Boone shooting Pacer. The man was unpleasant and clearly trying to bait them, and that sort of behavior wasn't going to fly with her once this shit with the Dam was over. _...Assuming_ she survived the battle, and that she would have further dealings with the Kings.

"Talk him out of it, then," Boone said, low and angrily. "You can do that."

"I don't have _time_ for that. Let's just get this over with," she snarled. "I need to talk to The King."

She released Boone and walked straight up to Pacer, then laid one on him so heavily he yelped in surprise. The other Kings in the room whooped and hollered at the display, and she heard the distinct sound of Boone pulling the bolt back on his rifle. In a swift motion she grabbed Pacer's hair and yanked him away from her, smacking his head back into the wall he was leaning on.

Ignoring Boone, she stomped through the door into the theater. No shots sounded behind her. She supposed he understood the danger to both of them, if he opened fire in the lobby. At least, she hoped he wouldn't be so foolish. She couldn't say much for whatever male pride he might retain over the matter.

The King was sitting ever patiently at his table, watching the men up on stage. His dog was still there, but it laid down onto the floor at her approach and went quiet. "King," she said, wavering slightly. Her eyes were on the cyberdog, her hands balling up into fists. "I'm calling in my favor."

"Good," he replied, glancing over at Boone. The sniper had come up behind her, standing uncomfortably close. "Have you apol―"

 _"Yes,"_ she interrupted, rolling her eyes in anger.

He frowned at her. "Not sure if that's a good way to start asking favors," he declared, in a no-nonsense tone.

Bonnie shook her head. "Let's just say Pacer charged a late fee," she groaned.

The King chuckled a little. "From the looks of your friend there, I don't think it was very easy to pay," he answered. "Alright. What can The King do for you?"

"I need the violence against the NCR to stop," she said, quickly and assertively.

The King blinked slowly and raised an eyebrow. "That's a tall order there, little lady. Not sure I could promise that. Might be able to keep my men down, but the rest of Freeside?" He shook his head slowly. "Don't think it's possible."

She snorted and brushed a piece of hair out of her face. "You whipped the Kings into shape, didn't you? Other than that thirteen-year-old you employ as a bouncer, anyway."

The King laughed and slapped his knee at that. "You have a point," he conceded. "I'll try my best."

Bonnie said her goodbyes and left the building without looking back. Once outside the building, she turned toward Freeside's south gates and headed out into the wastes. Her armor was starting to rub her all the wrong way, only adding to her discomfort. It was becoming an issue―

"Bonnie," Boone started.

"I don't want to hear it," she snapped. "I'm sick of dealing with all these assholes without free reign." She glanced at Boone with a glare. "If it makes it easier to wiggle my _hips_ ―then I will!"

He glared back and grabbed her shoulder, digging his thumb into her painfully. She was roughly turned to face him. She crossed her arms, looking away. His hand clenched on her leather. "You're driving me crazy," he muttered.

"You are the one who said I just need to be Bonnie," she pointed out, jabbing him in the chest.

"Yes," he agreed. "But being Bonnie makes me angry." He shook his head. "Thought I'd like being angry."

Bonnie sighed, and threw her hands out to the side. "I can't promise anything right now, Craig―" She stopped herself. "Let's get the hell out of Freeside, okay?"

He grumbled as they walked all the way outside, and began traveling southwest. They were passing the Sunset Sarsaparilla HQ when he grabbed her shoulders again and moved her into a busted out truck, pushing her to the back of the trailer. "Bonnie."

She sighed, and leaned against the metal wall, stifling a yawn. Even in near-winter, the Mojave was uncomfortably hot. She felt the warm air catching up to her. "What," she asked, sleepily.

"You..." he paused and crouched down in front of her. "You can keep being Bonnie," he said. "But no more of that―"

"Until the Legion is repelled from the Mojave with the Securitron army, all bets are uncalled," she said. "I can't say that I won't be forced to shy my way out of a jam." She blinked at him wearily. "You... you know that's..." Bonnie breathed out against the memory. "That's how I dealt with Motor-Runner."

She hadn't been very open with him about that. Hadn't told him anything about it. She couldn't imagine what he'd though of her stumbling out of that Vault wearing no underwear and blood streaming from her neck. And passing out on him. He was so much more closed off, back then. Probably hadn't cared very much.

Boone stared at her for a moment, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to a sitting position in his lap. He held her, firm but gentle, his cheek leaning on her shoulder. After what seemed like an eternity―a _good_ one but still very long―he whispered in her ear.

 _"No more."_

If the tone he was using was an accurate judge of his feelings, then she was a bit intimidated and altogether too flustered to fight back. Boone pinned her arm between them and her Pip-Boy started playing some old song, the sound echoing in the old truck. Bonnie started tearing up at the words.

 _"Why do I do, just as you say..."_


	15. A Fair Fight

Note: It's crazy how things work out sometimes. All that hokey-pokeying paid off

* * *

The Great Khan encampment at Red Rock Canyon was in a flurry of activity. Tents were being moved, wagons loaded, and people were everywhere, rushing back and forth with foodstuffs and other things. Bonnie knew they didn't have that much stuff to load up, if they were leaving the canyon, and her alarm at seeing them on the move was great.

She left Boone behind as she dashed off to the longhouse where Papa Khan should have been, and spent the next ten minutes running around trying to find the man. She found Regis instead, and pleaded with him to explain to her what was going on and then why they shouldn't do it.

"The battle at the Dam is too close at hand," he told her. "Papa Khan is too bitter to listen to reason, anymore. I'm sorry, Courier." He held out a hand to her. "If I see you on the Dam, I _won't_ hold back. That is the most I can do for you."

She swore under her breath as she scaled the rocks and scanned the activity, looking for the older Khan, but in her panicked state she couldn't keep her eyes on any one Khan for longer than a second. Standing on the rocks and looking down at the people, feeling terribly sad, not knowing what to do... she felt useless as _hell,_ when it came down to the Khans. _Should have joined them back then..._

She put her hands to her face and tried to calm down, rubbing her temples. It wasn't over, yet. She could still―

Two arms came up under her armpits and pulled her backwards, dragging her down from the rock and toward the Khan longhouse. She kicked and tried to struggle her way out, only to freeze when she saw who was in front of her.

The Legion frumentarii, Karl. Jon Tibbet had her around the shoulders, laughing in her ears. Bonnie's stomach did an uneasy flop and she fought harder, trying to pull her arms out of his grasp. She opened her mouth to scream―and Karl hit her in the celiac plexus, knocking the wind from her lungs. She was stunned.

"I hear you were branded by the Legion, Courier," he said, quietly. "I'd like to see if it is true." His hands trailed over her jacket and then opened it, moving it to the side as he lifted up her undershirt.

Tibbet's voice in her ear confused her, muttering about the NCR and reckoning. For a moment she didn't react at all, but gathered her strength. _Play it out,_ she thought. _See what's going on, then knee them both in the nuts and get away. That usually works, right?_

Karl's hand traced over the branded bull, making her shiver. His mouth curved up into an actually pleasant smile, as if he was genuinely happy to see the scar. "I hadn't thought it possible," he said, glancing up at her. "The Legion mark you bear..." He laughed. "And what lies underneath?" The smile suddenly became unpleasant. "Who was it, Courier? Another profligate, like yourself?"

Bonnie lifted her foot and attempted to kick out at him, but Tibbet's hand on her shoulder moved to her neck, compressing the sides firmly. She couldn't breathe―she could barely breathe _anyway,_ after that knock to the ribs―where the hell was Boone?! Her foot wobbled and lowered, and Tibbet lessened his grip.

"Play nice now, Bonnie. Ain't no one gonna _hurt_ you, unless you ask for it. Just a friendly conversation... since you wouldn't let me have one, _last time."_ Tibbet's mouth grinned against her ear.

Her eyes met Karl's shining black ones, and she grimaced at him. _"What the hell do you want,"_ she hissed out.

Karl smiled again, a nasty look on his face. "I'd like to know who the father of the baby is," he said, as if it were the simplest request. "Any child born under the bull is destined to serve the mighty Caesar. It would be such an honor for you, to have that happen."

She snapped then, and struck out with her boot, ignoring the tightness on her neck. Karl took the hit directly in the groin and reeled backwards, stumbling. Tibbet released her shoulder and shoved her to the ground. He grabbed the collar of her open jacket and drew back a fist for a punch, and she scrambled to bring her elbows up to block it―

The punch was stopped by a strong hand, prying Tibbet's fingers off of her collar and pushing the man to the side. Bonnie fell backwards and rolled over, up on her feet in a second. She rose from the ground with her feet apart, hands up, and ready for a fight.

"Courier," Papa Khan said, nodding to her. He stood with his hands on his hips, staring down at the groaning frumentarii and the scowling Tibbet. "What is this?" he asked Tibbet.

"Just a talk," the man spat. "Stupid bitch doesn't know how to be nice. Never _has!"_

Bonnie snarled at him. "I hope you get your ass handed to you," she said, "and I hope it's by some weak old woman, since you don't deserve an easy death!"

Papa Khan regarded her with a casual look, his eyes dropping to her exposed stomach. "Son," he said in disbelief, when his head swiveled back to the man, "did you just assault a pregnant woman?"

Tibbet found somewhere else to look, quickly. Bonnie flushed and pulled her shirt down, and heard pounding footsteps behind her. Boone came up to her, catching her up by the shoulders and embracing her urgently.

"You can't run off like that," he said, his voice strained and face contorted.

 _"Sorry,"_ she muttered. "I wasn't thinking."

Papa Khan looked at the newcomer with a raised eyebrow and then cleared his throat. "You know the penalty," he told the men lying on the ground. "I'm ashamed to see such vice among those who consider themselves Khans."

Tibbet blanched. The frumentarii pulled himself up of the ground, looking full of himself. He shook his head at the Khan leader. "This woman is important to Caesar," he said, tersely. "She bears the mark of the Legion."

Boone immediately had his rifle out, aimed at the man. _"Let me kill him,"_ he asked Papa Khan.

"You can't―" Bonnie started to say.

"Very well," Papa Khan interjected.

A gunshot echoed off the canyon walls and Bonnie's eyes widened at the older Khan, wondering what in the hell was going on.

* * *

The camp move was temporarily stopped. Papa Khan sat with Bonnie and Boone in the longhouse and offered them up food and drink. He allowed Jon Tibbet to make a case, then asked Bonnie what she felt should be his punishment. It was clear that he knew exactly what had gone on, and was not inclined to be forgiving of the man. Karl was dead; Bonnie was still a little shocked that Papa Khan had allowed him to be killed, but even more shocked that Boone had _asked_ the Khan leader before doing so. She shook her head free of those thoughts and looked at Jon Tibbet, kneeling on the floor in front of the table.

"Well, don't _kill_ him," she said, sighing in frustration. "That's for me to do, one of these days." She stared down at the sniveling man and pursed her lips. "I don't know, _mark_ him? Let him understand what it's like to be singled out by your enemy, like I have."

"You should kill him now," Boone said, seething. His jaw worked furiously, grinding his teeth into his gums.

Bonnie shot a sidelong glance at the sniper; she knew what was probably going through his head to have found her being roughed up by a Legionary and Tibbet. Whatever conclusion he'd come to before... he wore an expression of rage while staring at the subdued Khan.

She shook her head, though. "No, that has to be a _fair_ fight, fists up between us, no conditions to stop it." She glanced at Papa Khan. Her mind was still a little off from everything that had been happening to her lately. "...Cut off an ear or something. He won't mind it much, he's already ugly."

The remark drew laughter from the room and Bonnie felt a little self-conscious. Every person in the longhouse was watching her and Boone, like they were worried she was going to pull a gun on Papa Khan. Or Boone, who was still wearing his First Recon getup, with one sewed up sleeve.

"Take him," Papa Khan said, and Tibbet was removed from the room. He turned in his seat to look at her. "With all the hostilities between the NCR and Khans, I can't abide by this sort of violence. It was horrific what happened at Bitter Springs, and I will not have my people be debased by similar actions."

Boone shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Bonnie laid a hand on his leg without looking. They were both in trouble if he even so much as hinted at that mess. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, Papa Khan," she said. "But... you are so clearly aligned with the Legion―"

"Not now," he said, setting his jaw. "I didn't deny your man his chance for vengeance. Karl is dead; the Khans have betrayed the Legion." He breathed out through his nose and the bushy hairs in his beard moved, making Bonnie smile. It was so _silly,_ and she was on a wire right now...

"I see what you are saying," she replied, calmer than she felt. "They must have some code for that sort of thing."

"They do," he said, gravely. "It is assured that if Khans meet Legion now, it will end in my death, and probably the deaths of many more of my people." He leaned back in his chair and eyed her thoughtfully. "...What is the situation in Vegas?"

Bonnie shrugged. "House is dead. I control the Lucky 38 right now―" _Shit._ She did, didn't she? ...As long as Yes Man listened to her. Wasn't likely that he wouldn't. She stopped talking as the importance of that statement sunk into her.

 _She_ owned New Vegas, now. She was the Papa Khan of the place, the President Kimball of the Strip. A string of swears came to mind that she didn't dare let out. _What the hell did you do, Bonnie McCrae!_

Papa Khan considered her expression and smiled patiently. "It's quite a lot, to be in charge of a whole people, isn't it?"

"I hadn't thought about it before," she said, her voice strangled.

"Possible you need more help than you realize," he said, his smile turning genuine. Bonnie swallowed and nodded. "If I pledge my people to your aid, at this battle coming..."

She stared at the bearded Khan, swallowing again, trying not to express the utter bewilderment she had for the situation at hand. Boone's leg under her hand moved as he shifted position behind her, and she felt the skin on her stomach tightening in tension. So many reasons to do what she'd done―murdering House, taking apart her own immorality for the purpose of bringing peace to the Mojave, attempting to provide a safe haven for the child she would eventually bear... provided she survived the Legion. _Every last bit helps. Every person is one more gun against those bastards across the river, one more voice against the government that wants to annex the Mojave. One more promise for the future... for Boone and..._ Her free hand dropped to her stomach.

"A woman such as yourself... in _your_ position, willing to lead an army across the Dam, to bring down an opposing people..." Papa Khan rubbed his chin through the coarse hair. "Don't think we could rightly call ourselves Khans if we couldn't follow that, and pay back past actions."

 _Oh, Christ._ He was talking about Bitter Springs―he knew she and Boone had gone to Bitter Springs and repelled the Legion attack, he _had_ to know, it had been so long ago. She felt tears prickling at her eyes and looked down at her lap, removing her hand from Boone's leg. Her hands twisted at the bottom of her leather jacket, unsure of what to say.

It must have been the right thing to do. Papa Khan laid a hand onto her shoulder and extended the other to her for a handshake. "You treat my people like you have before, protect us, and we will protect you as we can."

"Thank you," she near-whispered, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Thank you for _everything,_ Papa Khan."

"Now," he turned his eyes to the others around them. "Don't we have a battle to get to, people?"


	16. Craig's Blood

Note: Skipped the generator stuff because I wanted to wrap this thing up soon, I'm sure you'd rather see the excitement of the Dam battle than that, anyway...

* * *

The Great Khans moved out after a few hours, marching silently through the hills and across the roads around Vegas. Bonnie was there to turn Colonel Hsu's men away as they approached, wondering why such a large amount of Khans were traveling through the wasteland. Her job was easy at this point; she became the de facto political representative of the Khans in their journey. NCR might not like her, but they sure weren't gonna fuck with her when she was trailing oodles of Khans and was joined by multiple Securitrons.

Boone pointed out that such a large army would attract Caesar's Legion from their camp regardless of the Legion's plans. The Khans amassing outside of the Dam should draw the Legion to battle on the Dam. That was fine by her, it would be over that much more sooner.

Boone also told her that he'd located Papa Khan while trying to catch up with her in Red Rock, after she "abandoned me to a bunch of angry-eyed Khans" and "ran off to do _God-knows-what"_ which she knew never ended well.

"I am sorry," she said, lacing a hand through his and squeezing. "I was afraid they'd leave without me having one last say in the matter."

"Probably right," he muttered. "Papa Khan wanted more information about Bitter Springs."

"He talked to you about it?" She raised an eyebrow as they passed through the mountains west of the Dam, past a partially-hidden ranger station. It was nearing dark, now. She hoped the battle would be in the morning... partially because she was tired, but also because fighting in the dark was never pleasant.

"Yeah," Boone answered, his voice awkward.

Whatever discussion he had with Boone... she expected it was part of the reason the Khans were switching sides. She sighed. Well... fortune again, though she wondered what bad luck would befall her now that she'd managed to get the Khans on her side.

The Mojave's armies approached the Dam, now. The Second Battle of Hoover Dam would shortly begin. Everything was ready; everyone was waiting.

And Bonnie McCrae was leading the way.

* * *

Securitrons on every outcropping of rock, watching over the Dam and the surrounding area. Bonnie got regular reports through her Pip-Boy about local activity; a few critters here or there but no real threats. One lone Legion patrol was quickly put down further south, but everything indicated it was in place before the armies arrived.

She was sitting on a ledge just above the Dam, looking down at the water and the concrete wall that seemingly stretched for miles. The moon was full, lighting up the top of the Dam, and bounced off the water at the base, shimmering in the roiling water. It was so hard to comprehend the massive nature of the Dam, without actually standing at the base of it. Much like the battle she was about to take part in―

The NCR had been informed of their intent, and was moving itself into position, while Bonnie had Securitrons notifying the Boomers; the message she received back was shudder-inducing. At some point in the battle, the Lady would fly. That was all _her_ doing, too―

"Relax," Boone said, sitting behind her. He laid his legs down beside hers and scooted forward until they met, and held her from behind. "Try to sleep. Get your naps when you can."

"I couldn't sleep even if someone knocked me in the head," she said, her voice stressed and mood plummeting. "There's― _too_ _much_ going on."

Boone rested his chin on her head and squeezed. Bonnie sighed, patted his hand, and removed herself from the embrace. "We're going to die," she muttered. "There's too many Legionaries. An informal army never beats a fully trained and well-rested one."

"Maybe," he said, and his hand dipped back onto her, down to her stomach. "Hope not."

Bonnie snorted in disbelief. "Since when have you ever hoped _not_ to die," she grumbled.

He chuckled, and moved his head down to her neck. "Since I met you," he said.

"That is corny as all hell, Craig." A sharp nip on her neck brought her head around, knocking into his with a gentle thunk. She hissed and leaned forward, moving away from him. "Cut it out," she warned. "Now is _not_ the time―"

"Last night on earth," he said, sounding more confident than she felt.

She glanced back and frowned. He smiled patiently at her. "Like you said, maybe. _I'm_ not holding any hope. We're gonna be on the front line, Craig. First in line, _first to die."_

"Stop thinking about it." His voice was commanding. Bonnie pushed her hair back and sighed.

They watched the moon rising, watched the milling troops of Khans and robots, watched the water flowing out of the Dam. It was almost peaceful. _Like the world isn't going to end tomorrow._

"Always figured I'd die somewhere out in the wilds, being eaten by bugs or some shit." She put her chin in her hand and leaned an elbow on her knee. "Didn't see that shit with Benny coming. Didn't know what the hell I was doing when the Legion got me." She heaved a sigh and leaned her head onto his lap, looking up at him. "You were planning to get killed by the Legion, anyway."

Boone stared out across the Dam, no expression on his face. Bonnie laid on his thigh for a long time, feeling the chill of the desert night starting to seep through her armor. She closed her eyes and breathed evenly, trying to clear her thoughts of the battle and everything else that had gone on in the recent past.

"Don't think I'm looking for death, anymore."

She opened her eyes and snorted. "I figured that out a while ago," she muttered.

Boone ran a hand over her hair and then pushed her off his lap, and got up off of the ground. "Try to sleep, Bonnie," he said, quietly, and walked away.

She could only shake her head and wonder what he was thinking about now. _Probably Carla._

Bonnie laid herself out on the rocks and stared at the moon, her eyes closing without her permission.

* * *

The battle began.

At first, it was hard to tell what was actually happening―Bonnie had just pried herself off the rocks overlooking the Dam as the first rays of sun began to tinge the sky, and was drinking as much cowboy coffee as she could fit in her stomach. Her nerves were not shot but were perforated, and the tiniest tear would probably render her useless.

Boone was somewhere; she couldn't find him. He hadn't come back to the rocks until after she fell asleep, covering her with a bedroll and leaving a bottle of water beside her head. She vaguely recalled a memory of him in the night, touching her hair. When she woke in the morning, she was alone.

Regis and Melissa brought the first news of enemy movement, and after that it was a mad dash to get onto the Dam and repel whoever came across. Securitrons left and right blowing missiles across the air, Great Khans slamming into Legionaries and tossing them over the edges of the Dam. The Lady, sailing over their heads while literally everyone watched in amazement―bombing the Legion with severe effectiveness as they marveled at the sight.

And Bonnie still couldn't find Boone. She was worried, now, because he would have wanted her to stay back, would have wanted to protect her personally, to be at her side the whole time... wouldn't he? Unless... he was distancing himself... At this final battle, so the hurt wasn't too much to bear when she died.

 _Don't hold out hope that you won't, Bonnie. We knew this was coming._

 _God forbid I expect a little consistency in anything other than you, inner Bonnie. I'm actually glad the end is in sight. Won't have to put up with you anymore._

She was aggravated, and it showed. Her faithful repeater was off-mark, she was using up ammo far too quickly, her temper was rising and the flood of Legionaries didn't show any signs of stopping. Explosions on and around the Dam caught her off-guard, but her personal Securitron guard was picking up her slack. Bullets grazed her armor, one slicing through her left cheek and setting off her face. The look on the Legionaries' faces as she marched through their ranks with her robots and contorted expression was one she wished she could stop to enjoy.

 _Why **didn't** you buy a missile launcher?_

Bonnie inhaled sharply as the Securitrons unleashed their automatic weapons. Khans and Legion, NCR and robots, bullets and explosions, and her right in the middle of it.

It really did make her feel powerful.

She collapsed in the checkpoint, the robots wheeling around her, wondering what was next and where the _hell_ Boone was. After a few minutes of gulping air and calming herself down, she exited the checkpoint to find both those questions answered.

Immediately through the door there were two Legionaries waiting on guard―and as she swung herself around to shoot at one of them, he fell in front of her. The other, behind her, was dead as soon as the first one hit the earth. She blinked in temporary confusion and turned to see Boone climbing down from the rocks on the left side of the checkpoint. He strode over to her, swept her up into a hug, and kissed her full on the mouth, sending intense shivers up and down her spine.

 _"Where―"_ she started, as he released her.

"Sniper," he reminded her, putting a knuckle to her forehead. She had a smear of blood there from Legionaries, and he rubbed at it with the finger, smiling. _Covered in Legion blood again, another good hug..._ at least this time she hadn't had her face beat in by a Legionary. Boone held up his rifle and nodded at the interior of the camp. "Let's go say hello."

She sighed. "Yeah, okay..." _Not really looking forward to this―_

It was suspiciously silent as they made their way into the camp, quietly sneaking up to the gate. The Securitron traveling with her rolled over the ground without sound, something she wouldn't have thought about. She was grateful for that.

Boone quickly snipered two guards and they moved down into a dip in the middle of the camp, making their way through the various accoutrements of the Legion. Bonnie was staring up at a practice dummy with a raised eyebrow when she heard the dogs.

All the blood drained from her face, jerking upright to a stand, and she found herself backing into Boone as fast as she possibly could. Her hands shaking and heart pounding, she pressed herself into him and hysterical laughter ran through her head. She could smell blood and gunpowder, feel the heat he was giving off, taste the fire in the air. Her vision flooded with tears.

Boone's response was to bring his rifle around her body and aim at a gate across the way, using her shoulder instead of his own to hold it steady. It was over in a few minutes, along with the Securitron's effort. Bonnie felt her legs going weak, wobbling with strain.

That powerful feeling was gone―

Boone grunted loudly in pain, and they were both pushed forward into the dirt. She felt him move off of her back and turned herself quickly, repeater up and eyes wide. On her back in the ground, staring up at―

A man in a metal mask stared back at her, his massive sword held with both hands, dripping blood.

 _Craig's blood._


	17. Warm Heart, Cold Steel

Note: Short chapter, had to break up the last part because it was a little too long.

* * *

"An envoy of Vegas, yet you carry yourself for battle. If so, you cannot _truly_ be of that city of cowards."

She rose from the ground, dropping her repeater. Calmly, without a word, she removed Love and Hate from her pocket and slipped them on. She did not bring her eyes to meet that mask again until the spiked knuckles felt perfect on her hands, resting firmly against her fingerless leather gloves.

It was then that she raised her fists up and stared down what she presumed was this Monster of the East that she'd heard reference to. _Legate Lanius._

Boone was down. Blood pooled on the dusty earth behind him, lit up by the sun as it climbed brilliantly into the sky. He was not making any noise, his eyes closed, his face pale and his limbs stilled. His rifle had fallen under her and was kicked away as she pulled herself from the ground; it now lay against his hands, but was not held.

She could only assume that he was dead. It was the only thing that made sense in this moment.

Bonnie stared down the masked man, her eyes on the place where his would have been, feeling her muscles tensing in her shoulders, Her legs solidly planted themselves into the dust that billowed up in little clouds around her feet. She was ready for this―even if she died.

And she _would_ die. There was no mistake about that. Legionaries came out from everywhere, every tent, every crack in the rocks, around every corner of the camp. They lined up behind the Legate, silently watching the dialogue going on between the two. Securitrons lined up around the other side of the camp, collecting themselves in a rough semi-circle around her. She ordered them down with a finger on her Pip-Boy screen. It was time to end this whole mess.

 _It was a good life, right? Not too many regrets, anyway._ She felt the tears building, pushed them back.

 _Stay angry! **Work** with me, here, Bonnie. We don't stand a chance but we **will** leave a dent in this asshole's face! We've fucking **earned** this fight!_

 _...Okay. But only because of Cr―_

"If you think you've got any chance of taking Hoover Dam, you're wrong," she said, her voice slowly rising in volume and intensity. Thoughts in her head melded and became one, and her fury at the world for giving her so much shit in the last thirty years raised its ugly head.

The Legate tilted his head down to her. "Many graves in the East are filled with those who said as much, with braver words, not backed by strength," he replied, disdainfully.

Bonnie laughed, meanly. "I filled one grave, _already!"_ She felt her face start to twitch, ignored it. _"And_ I was killed by _Legion hands,_ yet I _still_ stand!" She turned her head and cracked her neck, then stared him down again. _"I cannot be killed."_

He considered her for a moment. "Are you―"

She interrupted him. "Why don't you fight me yourself if you've got the spine for it, _shithead."_

 _Oh-ho,_ she laughed. _That pissed him off!_ The tone of voice he used to deliver his next words made her spine feel like jelly, but she held her position. _For Craig,_ she told herself. _For―_

"Woman of the West... you will learn your place―in my tent, and again, when you _beg_ for release on the edge of my blade."

Fucking Legion! She banged her knuckles together and smiled sweetly at him. "Bonnie McCrae _doesn't_ beg for death. Death begs _for me."_

 _Jesus Christ, is that what we're going out on? Are you insane?_ Her inner voice scoffed. _Fucking ridiculous._

"Enough!" he said, his tone commanding. He raised his blade and readied himself.

Legionaries watching them staring each other down, Boone lying bloodied on the ground, the robot silent behind her, the sun above her head in the Legate's camp while explosions ripped the air behind them on the Dam―

 _Why not?_

* * *

It started with her moving first. She feinted left and went right, landing a swift punch under the armpit. It bounced off the metal without catching, and she fell back a few steps. The Legate pushed her back further with a swipe of his sword that she barely jumped out of the way of, then brought it around again in another swing.

He continued to press her back, out of the dip in the ground, and she was careful not to let him trap her into the dog pen that was now littered with their bodies. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of the dogs' bodies, distracting her―

Her back hit the wall of the pen, near where the open gate was; she ducked down as the blade flew above her head and scraped against the metal, drawing little sparks from the contact. Jerking as the sparks hit her head, she spun to the side and kicked a foot into the back of the Legate's knee.

She kept moving when he didn't go down, pushing off of his knee to roll herself into a standing position. _Hadn't expected that to work, but it was worth a try_ ―she was up off the ground in time to see the sword swing around again, only this time it was the flat of the blade that connected.

Bonnie went sprawling into the dirt as the blade hit her in the face, leaving a bright red mark and causing her cheek to contort. She swore and tumbled to the ground, rolling again, coughing as her open mouth caught the dust rising from her path. Legate Lanius approached her again, without a word, his weapon tapping across his hand easily.

It truly did look like he was playing with her―he intended to make good on his promise. She wasn't scared of him. She _would_ smash his head in like she had smashed Motor-Runner―and the Legate's helmet had a _lot_ more points with which she could gouge out his eyes―

That gave her an idea. Bonnie suppressed a grin as the Legate's feet approached. She grabbed up a handful of dust, splaying out her other hand and pretending to still be reeling from the blow. His footsteps were loud in her ears, overpowering the blood that rushed through her head. She waited, playing at being unable to move, letting her free hand twitch against the ground.

A rumbling laugh above her spurred her into action, springing up off of the ground and tossing the dust into his face with one hand. Her left hand reached out to grab the bottom of his helmet and jerked it upward, holding it back. She made a fist with her right hand and punched him in the throat where the armor didn't cover his skin.

The Legate brought his blade up to swing at her again, as she was grabbing at his helmet. It met her right arm as she drew back for a second punch, clumsily striking her across the forearm.

It was sharper than she had thought. The sting of the blade as it went through her leather and sliced her flesh open was startling. Bonnie released him and jerked away in pain. The action drew her arm further across the blade and for one moment she stared in disbelief―

Her hand tumbled through the air. The Love half of the spiked knuckles was still attached to it, and she opened her mouth in a loud curse as the appendage struck the ground. It bounced twice, but by that point she was slamming her remaining hand up into the soft flesh under the Legate's chin.

He stepped backward, into the dip of the ground. His footing was lost and he stumbled down, and she launched herself at him from above, landing with both feet on his chest and her remaining hand repeatedly punching him in the neck. She was screaming now, she could feel the vibration of her throat, loud obscenities and insults against the Legion, screaming for the Securitrons to _attack―_

Her sundered limb was jabbing at him too, the exposed bone shrieking at her as she jabbed it into his neck _over and over―_

She ripped the mask off his face and laid into that _too―_

And the gunfire above her in the camp was deafening. Her vision went black from _pain―_


	18. A Free World

She must have had the prudence of mind to give herself a stimpak at some point, before she passed out. Bonnie came back to consciousness after a moment, her vision clearing and head remarkably free of pain. After a moment of inspecting the injury to her forearm―which had healed over enough that it was not bleeding―she dashed off of the Legate's prone body and went to Boone.

He was alive. Breathing very slowly, _thank God,_ the blood no longer flowing from his back where the Legate had stabbed him. She had to jab him twice with a Stimpak before he started breathing less raggedly and his eyelids began to flutter. For good measure she jabbed him with another stimpak and then used the remainder on herself. She collapsed over his side and let her tears fall, finally.

 _It probably isn't over,_ she thought. But she didn't care.

Boone stirred underneath her, an arm going around her side and back, the other twisting itself around to grab her cheek. She flicked her eyes down to his face and breathed out, exhausted and bloody and torn to hell.

"Bon―," he said, weakly, then cleared his throat. "Bonnie?"

She gave him a thin smile. "I killed the Legate," she whispered.

"Wha―" His eyes unfocused then focused on her arm, and he clutched at her a little tighter, pulling her from his side to his face. She didn't have the strength to return his kiss; she just melted on top of him as he drew it out. She was too tired to really feel the spikes of pleasure than ran down her spine into her stomach, and much too bloodied to enjoy it. She gasped out in pain as her ruined arm slid across his bandoleer, catching the edge, and he released her quickly.

"Sorry," Boone mumbled, and lifted himself off of the ground, slowly. Bonnie moved to the side as he got up, letting herself fall onto her back.

She stared up at a Securitron as it wheeled itself to her, and blinked slowly. Her left arm came up, the Pip-Boy flickering darkly under the bright sun. After a moment, she let it drop to the ground and pushed herself up. There was no way for her to use the knobs and dials on the damn thing now. She winced at the stab of pain through her forearm.

Boone was looking around at the carnage. Other than the Legate's body, there was a semi-circle of Legionaries laid out, and the army of Securitrons behind her stood the victor. Bonnie's hand and wrist lying in a puddle of blood near the edge of the dip in the ground. She toed it gingerly, then wrapped it with a rag and stuffed it into her haversack.

 _I'll bury it in Goodsprings,_ she thought. _There's already a grave there, waiting._

They stumbled away from the camp, Boone holding her around her shoulder, as the robots followed. It wasn't over, not yet. At the gate of the camp, she reeled from an explosion of sparks and smoke. She clutched at Boone again, blinking through watery eyes. The smoke blew over them and into the camp, drawn away by the steady hand of the wind. In the gateway of the camp, a contingent of rangers and a man in authoritative clothing stood.

Bonnie rubbed her face with what remained of her arm and released Boone. "What the _hell,"_ she grumbled.

"That was a fine bit of work back there. Truth told, I'm surprised you made it out of there in one piece," the man said.

"General Oliver," Boone acknowledged him. Bonnie just blinked at him, without a word. _So tired._

"I'm impressed to say the least, and that's no easy thing. You've secured NCR's future―the administration sends its thanks, for what it's worth."

She laughed in disbelief, holding her sides and leaning away from the men. Her stomach tightened painfully against her leather armor as she slowed herself to a stop, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh, you're _funny,"_ she muttered. "Hold that thought, General. I wanted to introduce you to some friends."

The Securitrons moved into position around the rangers and Bonnie watched with bleary eyes as they confronted the general. As an aside, she turned her head to Boone and gave him a half-hearted smile. "I won't hurt them," she whispered. "But if you want to leave, _now_ is the time."

Boone regarded General Oliver with an impassive look and then turned his head slowly to face her. A blank look was on his face. "I don't like it," he said, slowly, "but I'm not leaving, Bonnie." His hand snaked its way back across her shoulder.

"And... uh... well. These uh... these boys with you? Hello, there, smiley," the general said, uneasily.

"General Oliver, Hoover Dam is ours." Bonnie stepped forward to meet him, crossing her arms and leaning back a little. "Now... _get off of my land."_

"Who the hell do you think you are?" The general's face turned red with anger. "No, I came for a _fight_ today, and if you're looking to make me budge, you better have a _damn_ good left hook or I'm not going anywhere."

Surprising herself, she just shook her head at the man. His dig at her missing arm didn't even bother her. "I haven't been killed by the NCR, yet," she said, brightly. "Though... I doubt _very much_ you want to kill a wounded woman. Especially the one who just took down the Legate..."

He looked taken aback momentarily, but recovered quickly. "Do you know what you're _doing?_ Making a nation―" He curled a lip up at her. "Think you got the guts to carve out a frontier?"

"Can't do a worse job than the Republic, that's for sure." She turned herself to look back at the Legate's camp and shook her head. "I know how to play this game, Oliver. Stand down."

The general paused for a moment, then sighed. _"Hell._ Can't believe we got suckered by a slip of a woman." He shot her a nasty look. "Come on, men, we're moving out."

She watched them leave, without a word. Yes Man's robots followed them with their sensors. It made her smile.

Boone and she walked back out onto the Dam. Staring out over the edge of the wall, watching the sun rise into the sky, she wondered what would happen now. Now that the Legion was pushed back. Now that the world, and her own self, was irrevocably changed by her actions.

He stood with her on the edge of the Dam, staring over her shoulder at the change she'd brought to the Mojave. After a moment, he put his arms around her and held her.

And she hugged him back as best she could. The Mojave was free. What would happen now?

 _Probably more than we've ever prepared for._

* * *

Ending Note: This one's for _my_ baby. If you like my Boone, give thanks to him for providing source material :)

If you want to see more, I need input. I am at a loss as to anything about this kid or where to go from here, so I'm going to go work on some other projects and see if anyone has an idea for me to play off of. Suggestions for gender, name, what have you, gimme gimme.

And thanks for reading! **Love you all! :)**


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